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An  Art  Philosopher's  Cabinet 

Being  Salient  Passages  from  the  Works  on 
Comparative  -Esthetics  of 


George  Lansing  Raymond,  LMX>. 

Fonner  Professor  of  ^Esthetic  Criticism  in  Princeton  University 


Selected  and  Arranged  According  to  Subject  by 
Marion  Mills  Miller,  Litt^D* 

Editor  of  "TIic  dassics—Greck  and  Latin/'  etc. 


With  Illustrations 


G*  ?♦  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 

XTbe  tinickcxbockcx  pxcss 
1915 


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>-.;S' ;,.>•:•>.-   ::„;>•., 


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Ube  ftnfclterbocker  Press,  flew  Iffoclft 


Chief  Source  of  the  Selections 

A  System  of  GDmparative  -Esthetics 

By  George  Lansing  Raymond,  L.H.D* 

I.    Art  in  Theory 
II.    The  Representative  Significance  of  Form 

III.  Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art 

IV.  Painting,    Sculpture,    and    Architecture    as 

Representative  Arts 

V.    The  Genesis  of  Art  Form 

VI.  Rhythm  and  Harmony  in  Poetry  and  Music, 
together  with  music  as  a  representative 
Art 

VII.    Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color 
IN  Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture 

VIII.  The  Essentials  of  Esthetics:  Being  a  Com- 
pendium OF  the  System,  Designed  for  a 
Text-Book 


Published  fay 
G*  ?♦  Putnam's   Sons>  New   York  and  London 

m 

3G5884 


PREFACE 

The  epigram,  that  most  convincing  form  of  argument, 
while  it  effectively  destroys  unsound  opinions  prevalent 
among  people  who  let  some  one  else  do  their  thinking,  may 
itself  become  the  mother  of  error  when  it  is  in  turn  accepted 
without  examination  as  to  its  positive  truth. 

Of  this  the  popular  epigrammatic  definition  of  critics, 
so  effectively  used  by  Benjamin  Disraeli  in  his  novel  of 
Lothair,  as  "the  men  who  have  failed  in  literature  and  art," 
is  an  example.  It  attacks  unwarranted  pretense  on  the 
part  of  those  assuming  to  be  authorities  in  these  subjects, 
and  unquestioning  acceptance  of  them  as  such  by  the 
general  public,  and,  at  the  same  time,  appeals  by  its  slur 
to  the  element  of  malice  latent  in  the  human  breast  which 
springs  gleefully  into  expression  when  that  which  is  con- 
ceived to  be  a  mask  concealing  real  character  and  motives  is 
removed.  For  these  reasons,  this  epigram  has  been  suc- 
cessful in  its  purpose  where  a  plain  statement  of  the  need  of 
examining  the  credentials  of  those  sitting  in  judgment 
would  have  made  no  impression. 

The  error  which  the  epigram  propagates  is  in  its  sweeping 
assertion  that  all  those  who  assume  to  be  critics  are  failures 
as  creative  artists, — a  patent  untruth,  but  accepted  for  the 
sake  of  the  slur  without  regard  to  the  injurious  effect  that 
it  may  have  on  uninformed  minds.  Thus  this  epigram  has 
been  popularly  exalted  to  a  postulate;  qualification  to 
criticize  has  been  accepted  as  proving  inability  to  create; 
and,  as  an  inevitable  corollary,  criticism  has  been  deemed 
an  inferior  form  of  writing,  indeed  practically  worthless. 

To  confute  these  errors,  a  plain  statement  of  facts  show- 
ing that  great  artists  like  Leonardo  da  Vinci  and  great 
poets  like  Coleridge  have  been  supreme  critics  does  not 
seem  all  that  is  demanded.  Those  who  surrender  to  the 
force  of  epigrams  appear  often  to  bring  about  situations 
from  which  none  but  the  champions  of  other  epigrams  can 


vi  PREFACE 

deliver  them.  There  is  a  sense,  therefore,  in  which  it  may 
be  said  that  the  false  conceptions  just  mentioned  required 
a  master  of  epigram  to  expose  them,  even  if  he  had  to  do 
this  at  that  cost  to  truth  which  is  always  incurred  when 
answering  a  fool  according  to  his  folly. 

Oscar  Wilde  in  his  most  brilliant  essay  on  The  Decay  of 
Lying,  exploded  the  vital  element  of  the  epigram  in  ques- 
tion— namely,  the  deduction  that  criticism  is  an  inferior 
form  of  writing — by  frankly  granting  the  failure  of  critics 
as  creative  artists,  and  boldly  claiming  that  this  was  due  to 
their  special  ability  in  a  higher  field  of  literature.  Criticism 
he  declared,  supporting  his  statement  with  great  ingenuity, 
was  the  supreme  order  of  literary  composition. 

The  concession  that  he  made  was,  perhaps,  necessary  to 
secure  the  essential  quality  of  surprise  in  his  succeeding 
epigrammatic  presentation ;  but  it  has  proved  very  injurious 
to  certain  subservient  minds  ever  ready  to  follow  an  original 
genius  who  proclaims  himself  an  authority.  These  follow- 
ers, without  examining  Wilde's  argument  for  positive  and 
permanent  truth,  indeed  not  desiring  to  do  so,  since  in- 
genuity is  more  attractive  to  them  than  wisdom,  have 
accepted  his  impudent  assertion  at  its  face  value,  and  have 
found  license  to  pose  as  critics  without  qualification  for  the 
office  and  with  no  other  thought  than  to  make  their  judg- 
ments seem  striking  and  plausible.  Their  utterances  are 
unsound  and  insincere,  and  effective  only  for  the  destruction 
of  accepted  beliefs,  true  as  well  as  false.  Lacking  the  con- 
structive ability  to  create  a  new  pantheon  in  place  of  the 
idols  overthrown,  they  have  deified  the  hammer  which  their 
master,  the  supreme  iconoclast,  taught  them  to  wield, — the 
two-headed  paradox  as  destructive  in  the  rebound  as  in  the 
blow.  Indeed,  one  of  them,  George  Bernard  Shaw,  too 
proud  to  acknowledge  discipleship  to  Wilde,  but,  neverthe- 
less, a  member  of  the  cult,  and,  in  fact,  its  chief  living  repre- 
sentative, has  attempted  to  develop  the  principle  of  the 
paradox  into  a  working  philosophy  for  constructive  as  well  as 
destructive  purposes.  This  is  more  than  was  ever  con- 
templated by  Wilde  himself,  who  was  not  serious  even  in 
smashing  things,  but  rather  wanton,  breaking  old  and 
sacred  windows  in  the  social  temple  just  to  hear  the  glass 
crash,  and  not  to  let  in  the  pure  air  and  sunlight — although 
this  was,  happily,  often  the  result. 

Shaw's  doctrine  of  contrariety  that  attempts  to  find 


PREFACE  Vii 

wisdom  in  palpable  absurdity,  and  to  show  that  the  ap^ 
parently  impracticable  method  is  the  only  sure  means  to 
achievement,  is  most  patent,  and  hence  ineffective  for  evil, 
in  politics  and  economics.  This  is  shown  by  the  general 
contempt  that  has  dubbed  him  Bernhardi  Shaw  because  of 
his  recent  criticisms  of  Great  Britain  for  not  defending 
Belgium  by  leaving  it  defenseless,  and  by  the  repudiation 
on  the  part  of  even  his  fellow  socialists  of  his  late  theory  that 
equality  of  income  is  practicable  without  equality  of  oppor- 
tunity to  secure  the  income. 

It  is  in  the  field  of  art  and  letters,  however,  that  his 
principle  is  most  subtle,  because  there  it  is  based  upon  his 
elusive  personality,  and  hence  is  most  subversive  of  sound 
principles.  He  is  certainly  not  one  of  those  critics  who  have 
failed  in  literature.  As  a  dramatist,  he  has  been  eminently 
successful.  But  these  very  facts  tend  to  uphold  Wilde's 
contention  that  such  a  man  cannot  be  a  great  literary  critic; 
and  one  who  wanted  to  confirm  this  conclusion  could  point 
out  that,  perhaps,  no  writer  to  such  an  extent  as  Shaw  has 
ever  adapted  his  general  philosophy  of  composition,  es- 
pecially play- writing,  to  his  own  special  abilities  and  limita- 
tions. Shaw  has  done  this  with  such  success  that,  by  his 
method,  Shakespeare  is  condemned  and  he  himself  com- 
mended. The  first  requisite  for  acceptance  of  his  views  is 
acceptance  of  himself,  with  all  the  whimsical  contradictions 
of  his  nature,  as  the  ideal  artist. 

The  sensible  view  of  the  relation  of  the  critical  work  of  an 
author  to  his  creative  achievements — a  perfectly  natural 
connection  which  has  been  artfully  exalted  into  a  subject 
for  debate — is  that  creative  ability  is  a  desirable  qualifica- 
tion for  criticism  when  the  critic  is  not  an  egotist,  but  is  a 
detriment  to  him  when  he  has  his  own  case  continually  in 
mind  as  a  standard  for  judging  other  creative  artists.  Criti- 
cism must,  first  of  all,  be  impartial.  Success  as  a  creative 
artist  is  simply  a  conclusive  proof  of  one  kind  of  ability. 
Nor  is  the  fact  that  a  writer  has  abandoned  creative  for 
critical  work  evidence  of  a  lack  of  creative  ability.  On  the 
contrary  it  may  be  a  proof  of  it.  A  man  who  has  worked  out 
for  himself,  and  demonstrated  to  his  own  satisfaction, 
principles  of  art,  if  the  altruism  of  the  teacher  is  strong  in 
him,  may  sacrifice  the  joy  of  creation  for  the  higher  pleasure 
of  imparting  his  knowledge  to  others.  This  was  the  case 
with  John  Ruskin;  in  his  youth  he  was  a  painter  of  promise. 


viii  PREFACE 

yet  gave  up  his  career  as  an  artist  with  pencil  and  brush 
impelled  by  the  irresistible  desire  to  teach,  combined  with  a 
consciousness  of  ability  to  do  this  through  his  mastery  of 
the  artistry  of  lang^uage. 

Wilde's  contention  that  criticism  is  itself  a  kind  of 
creation,  while  untrue,  is  nevertheless  valuable  inasmuch 
as  it  strikes  at  the  truth.  Criticism  is  one  of  the  factors  of 
creation,  but  not  creation  itself.  In  the  language  of  philo- 
sophy, interpretation  of  the  message  of  a  work  of  art  to  the 
world  is  an  effective  cause  of  the  fulfilment  of  the  final 
cause  or  purpose  of  the  work.  The  whole  truth  is  that  both 
creator  and  interpreter  are  essential  agents  to  this  end,  and, 
in  this  respect,  both  deserve  honor.  The  precedence  of  the 
one  or  the  other  must  be  determined,  if  at  all,  by  comparison 
of  the  relative  position  which  each  holds  in  his  own  pro- 
fession. But  comparisons  are  particularly  odious,  and,  as  a 
rule,  wholly  useless,  when  instituted  between  persons  of 
different  pursuits. 

The  rounded  work  of  a  critic  is  both  destructive  and 
constructive,  the  former,  in  its  office  of  preparation  for 
upbuilding,  being  in  character  no  less  creative  than  the 
latter.  For  effectiveness  there  must  be  fixed  purpose  in  the 
work  from  the  beginning,  and  a  determined  and  original 
method  of  achieving  the  ultimate  object.  In  short,  a  true 
critic  must  be  a  philosopher  in  the  domain  of  his  activity. 

And  when,  as  in  the  case  of  art,  this  domain  is  a  broad 
and  diversified  one,  containing  many  separate  fields,  each 
distinct  in  character,  and  as  such  generally  localized,  but 
with  merging  and  ill-defined  boundaries,  and  with  common 
but  differently  employed  riparian  rights  to  the  streams  of 
influence  which  flow  through  them  all,  the  critic  must  be 
a  comparative  philosopher  in  particular,  if  he  would  be 
practically  helpful. 

His  requirements  do  not  stop  here.  Not  alone  must  he 
be  true  to  himself,  to  his  own  abilities  and  attainments  in 
the  choice  of  his  subjects,  and  be  true  to  the  nature  of  the 
subject  itself  in  treating  it,  but  he  must  be  able  to  present 
truth  to  others  in  a  form  suited  to  their  understanding  and 
acceptance.  In  order  to  meet  this  requirement,  it  seems 
well-nigh  essential  that  he  should  have  had  a  certain  amount 
of  experience  as  a  teacher  of  at  least  some  of  the  principles 
of  the  branch  to  which  he  has  devoted  himself. 
,    If  our  contention  be  justified,  if  the  ideal  critic  in  general, 


PREFACE  IX 

and  of  art  in  particular,  be  one  who  is  himself  a  creator  of 
artistic  forms,  with  inborn  ability  cultivated  by  study  and 
practice;  and  be  also  a  philosopher  of  analytic  and  synthetic 
powers  reinforced  by  wide  knowledge  of  his  subject;  and 
have  had  experience  in  the  work  of  explaining  and  presenting 
what  he  has  to  impart,  we  are  in  possession  of  a  standard 
by  which  to  judge  any  particular  critic  under  discussion. 

We  believe  that  George  Lansing  Raymond,  the  author  of 
the  only  complete  system  of  art-interpretation  that  has 
yet  been  produced  in  any  country, — complete  because  of 
its  analytic  and  synthetic  unity,  treating  its  theme  equally 
in  its  historical  and  theoretical  aspects,  and  applying  identi- 
cal principles  to  both  subject-matter  and  form  as  used  in 
every  one  of  the  higher  arts, — is  a  critic  who  conforms  to 
this  standard  in  each  of  these  regards,  and  with  an  unusual 
degree  of  excellence  in  all  of  them.  He  won  distinction  as  a 
poet  and  orator  in  early  life,  and  has  constantly  increased 
his  reputation  since  then.  For  poetry,  he  has  chosen  themes 
that  are  fitted  for  poetic  treatment,  and  presented  them  in 
a  style  whose  lucid  artistry,  by  the  aptness  with  which  it 
performs  its  function,  not  only  enhances  the  thought  but 
acquires  reflected  value  in  its  own  assthetic  character. 
Some  of  his  poems  are  dramatic  in  form,  and  in  these  as 
well  as  in  other  slight,  perhaps,  but  successful  excursions 
into  regions  demanding  ability  to  interpret  human  nature 
and  to  portray  personal  character,  he  has  not  been  found 
wanting,  whether  judged  by  the  inferences  of  common  sense, 
or  by  the  canons  of  criticism;  while  his  essays,  addresses, 
and  even  technical  treatises  on  aesthetics  and  various  other 
subjects  which  he  has  taught,  all  reveal,  in  their  natural  yet 
original  methods  of  presentation,  the  literary  artist. 

In  more  direct,  though  not  more  essential,  relation  to  his 
work  as  a  critic,  it  may  be  claimed  that  Dr.  Raymond  has 
eminently  the  mental  habit  of  a  philosopher.  A  reader  of  a 
single  book  of  his,  or  even  a  chapter,  will  be  impressed  by 
the  manner  in  which  he  resolves  forms  existent  in  art  into 
their  essential  elements,  and  from  these  reconstructs  the 
ideal  forms;  and  a  student  who  has  examined  his  entire 
system  will  realize,  as  never  before,  the  interrelation  of  all 
the  arts  and  their  common  foundation  on  broad  physical 
and  psychological  principles,  which  may  be  harmonized  in  a 
general  aesthetic  philosophy  applicable  to  every  branch  of 
the  subject.    As  evidence  of  such  a  realization  by  readers  of 


X  PREFACE 

even  single  volumes,  we  quote  from  a  review  of  "The 
Representative  Significance  of  Form,"  in  The  Scotsman 
of  Edinburgh:  "Professor  Raymond  goes  so  deep  into 
causes  as  to  explore  the  subconscious  and  the  unconscious 
mind  for  a  solution  of  his  problems,  and  eloquently  to 
range  through  the  conceptions  of  religion,  science,  and 
metaphysics  in  order  to  find  fixed  principles  of  taste." 
And  this,  from  a  review  of  "The  Genesis  of  Art-Form,"  in 
the  Philadelphia  Press:  "It  is  impossible  to  withhold 
one's  admiration  from  a  treatise  which  exhibits  in  such  a 
rare  degree  the  qualities  of  philosophic  criticism."  This 
also  from  the  Portland  (Me.)  Transcript's  review  of  "Pro- 
portion and  Harmony":  "It  is  scientific  and  mathe- 
matical to  the  core  without  destroying  the  beauty  of  the 
creations  it  analyzes.  It  is,  above  all,  logical  and  methodi- 
cal, maintaining  its  argument  and  carrying  along  from  one 
subject  to  another  the  deductions  which  have  preceded." 
And  this  from  the  Portland  Oregonian,  in  speaking  of 
"Rhythm  and  Harmony":  "The  analysis  is,  at  times,  so 
subtle  as  to  be  almost  beyond  the  reach  of  words,  but  the 
author's  grasp  of  his  subject  nowhere  slackens,  and  the 
quiet  flow  of  the  style  remains  unclouded  in  expressing 
even  the  most  intricate  phases  of  his  argument."  A  re- 
viewer in  the  New  York  Times  tells  us  that:  "In  a  spirit 
at  once  scientific  and  that  of  the  true  artist,  he  pierces 
through  the  manifestations  of  art  to  their  sources,  and 
shows  the  relations,  intimate  and  essential,  between  paint- 
ing, sculpture,  poetry,  music,  and  architecture." 

As  a  final  qualification  for  the  great  work  to  which  Pro- 
fessor Raymond  has  devoted  the  larger  part  of  his  life  may 
be  noted  his  experience  as  a  student  and  his  activities  as  a 
teacher  of  the  subjects.  A  personal  appreciation  appearing 
in  the  New  York  Times  in  connection  with  a  review  of  one 
of  his  books  contains  the  following:  "We  consider  Pro- 
fessor Raymond  to  possess  something  like  an  ideal  equip- 
ment for  the  line  of  work  he  has  entered  upon.  His  own 
poetry  is  genuine  and  delicately  constructed,  his  apprecia- 
tions are  true  to  high  ideals,  and  his  power  of  scientific 
analysis  is  unquestionable."  ....  He  "was  known, 
when  a  student  at  Williams,  as  a  musician  and  a  poet — 
the  latter  because  of  taking,  in  his  freshman  year,  a  prize 
in  verse  over  the  whole  college.  After  graduating  in  this 
country,  he  went  through  a  course  in  aesthetics  with  Pro- 


PREFACE  a 

fessor  Vischer  of  the  University  of  Tubingen,  and  also  with 
Professor  Curtius  at  the  time  when  that  historian  of  Greece 
was  spending  several  hours  a  week  with  his  pupils  among 
the  marbles  of  the  Berlin  Museum.  Subsequently,  be- 
lieving that  all  the  arts  are,  primarily,  developments  of 
different  forms  of  expression  through  the  tones  and  move- 
ments of  the  body.  Professor  Raymond  made  a  thorough 
study,  chiefly  in  Paris,  of  methods  of  cultivating  and  using 
the  voice  in  both  singing  and  speaking,  and  of  representing 
thought  and  emotion  through  postures  and  gestures.  It  is 
a  result  of  these  studies  that  he  afterwards  developed,  first, 
into  his  methods  of  teaching  elocution  and  literature" 
(as  embodied  in  his  Orator's  Manual  and  The  Writer)  "and 
later  into  his  aesthetic  system.  ...  A  Princeton  man  has 
said  of  him  that  he  has  as  keen  a  sense  for  a  false  poetic 
element  as  a  bank  expert  for  a  counterfeit  note;  and  a  New 
York  model  who  posed  for  him,  when  preparing  illustra- 
tions for  one  of  his  books,  said  that  he  was  the  only  man 
that  he  had  ever  met  who  could  invariably,  without  experi- 
ment, tell  him  at  once  what  posture  to  assimie  in  order  to 
represent  any  required  sentiment." 

In  his  early  manhood,  Professor  Raymond  taught  oratory, 
rhetoric,  and  English  literature  in  his  Alma  Mater, 
Williams  College;  and,  in  the  fulness  of  his  mental  powers, 
founded  and,  for  many  years,  conducted  the  department  of 
Oratory  and  ^Esthetic  Criticism  at  Princeton  University. 
In  later  life,  he  retired  from  the  class-room,  and,  taking  up 
residence  in  Washington,  lectured  before  the  George 
Washington  University  and  various  societies  in  that  city 
upon  his  system  of  aesthetic  philosophy  which  by  this  time 
he  had  completely  developed.  He  is  now  a  resident  of  Los 
Angeles,  where,  in  the  congenial  climate  of  the  **  American 
Italy,"  his  mind  is  still  actively  engaged  in  recording  in 
book-form  the  thoughts  which  he  has  derived  from  a  life 
full  of  research,  and  rich  in  experience  as  a  teacher  and 
writer.  At  present  he  is  engaged  on  a  work  having  to  do 
with  ethics — a  subject  which  he  will  undoubtedly  approach 
from  the  direction,  among  others,  of  aesthetics.  This  is  a 
view-point  which  sadly  needs  a  sane  and  sincere  exposition 
after  its  gross  mistreatment  at  the  hands  of  Oscar  Wilde  and 
others  belonging,  more  or  less,  to  the  same  school — a  cult 
which  has  brought  a  genuinely  philosophical  subject  into 
much  popular  disrepute. 


zu 


PREFACE 


It  must  not  be  inferred  from  the  foregoing  that  Dr. 
Raymond  has  excluded  from  his  former  works  consideration 
of  the  bearing  of  art  upon  human  conduct.  On  the  con- 
trary, his  books  are  full  of  it.  It  is  this  that  makes  them  so 
vital, — so  unlike  all  other  works  save  Ruskin*s  of  the  same 
order.  In  the  comparative  assthetics,  the  soul  as  well  as 
the  body  of  art  is  made  the  subject  of  interpretation  at 
every  point. 

This  latter  fact  would  furnish  a  sufficient  reason,  perhaps, 
for  the  preparation  of  a  collection  of  extracts  as  in  the 
present  volume.  But  the  book  is  not  designed  for  those 
interested  exclusively  in  any  one  phase  of  art  or  its  influence. 
The  thoroughness,  and  consequent  comprehensiveness,  of 
Professor  Raymond's  discussions  have  placed  a  great  deal 
of  what  he  has  said  practically  beyond  the  reach  of  many 
busy  people  who  cannot  take  from  other  necessary  occupa- 
tions the  time  needed  for  studying  his  system  as  a  whole. 
The  editor  is  convinced  that  readers  of  this  kind,  whether 
artists,  poets,  art-lovers,  critics,  editors,  teachers,  or 
preachers,  will  welcome  an  opportunity  afforded  them  for 
becoming  acquainted,  in  a  very  few  moments,  with  any  one 
of  the  more  important  of  Professor  Raymond's  contribu- 
tions to  any  phase  of  the  general  subject. 

Similarly  selected  quotations  from  Professor  Raymond's 
poetical  works  have  already  been  published  in  a  book 
entitled  A  Poet's  Cabinet.  To  this,  the  present  book, 
giving  extracts  from  his  prose  works,  forms  a  companion, 
the  two  cyclopedias  supplying  comprehensive  mental  and 
spiritual  co-ordinates  whereby  the  reader  may  be  enabled  to 
test  not  only  the  personality  of  the  author  but  the  com- 
pleteness and  applicability  of  his  philosophy  of  art  and  life, 
and  may  be  guided  and  inspired  by  their  suggestions. 

Marion  Mills  Miller.  ' 

The  Authors  Cluby  New  York. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

I.    The  Author       ....  Frontispiece 

From  a  photograph 

The  following  have  been  selected  from  the  many  hundreds  in  Professor  Raymond's 
volumes  on  account,  mainly,  of  the  self-explanatory  testimony  which  they  all  furnish  to 
the  truth  of  one  of  the  most  important  of  his  fundamental  propositions.  This  is  that  the 
primary  and  most  universal  endeavor  of  the  imagination  when  influenced  by  the  artistic 
tendency  is  to  form  an  image  that  is  made  to  seem  a  unity  by  comparing  and  grouping 
together  effects  that,  when  seen  or  heard,  are  recognized  to  be  wholly  or  partially  alike. 


II.  A  Maori  Festival,  New  Zealand  . 

III.  Kaffir  Station,  Africa 

IV.  Type  of  an  Assyrian  Square 
V.  Poutou  Temple,  Ningpo,  China  . 

VI.  Taj  Mahal,  India        .... 

VII.  St.  Mark's,  Venice,  and  St.  Sophia,  Constan 
tinople      ...... 

VIII.  Cologne  Cathedral    .... 

IX.  St.  Isaac's,  Petrograd 

X.  Doorway  of  a  Church  in  Jak,  Hungary 

XI.  The  Descent  from  the  Cross,  by  Rubens 

XII.  The  Death  of  Ananias,  by  Raphael 

XIII.  The  Laocoon  Group  of  Sculpture 


FACING 
PAGE 

32 

64 

96 

128 

160 

224 
256 
288 

352 

384 


aou 


An  Art-Philosopher's  Cabinet. 


ACCENT  (see  also  quantity,  rhythm,  tune,  and  verse). 

Some  may  doubt  whether  (in  poetry)  accent  is  the  basis  of 
rhythm  and  tune,  but  it  is  really  about  all  that  the  majority 
of  men  know  of  either.  With  exceptions,  the  fewness  of 
which  confirms  the  rule,  all  of  our  English  words  of  more 
than  one  syllable  must  necessarily  be  accented  in  one  way ; 
and  all  of  our  articles,  prepositions,  and  conjunctions  of  one 
syllable  are  unaccented,  unless  the  sense  very  plainly  de- 
mands a  different  treatment.  These  two  facts  enable  us  to 
arrange  any  number  of  our  words  so  that  the  accents  shall 
fall  on  syllables  separated  by  like  intervals.  The  tendency 
to  compare  things,  and  to  put  like  with  like,  which  is  in 
constant  operation  where  there  are  artistic  possibilities, 
leads  men  to  take  satisfaction  in  this  kind  of  an  arrange- 
ment; and  when  they  have  made  it,  they  have  produced 
rhythm. 

A  larger  rhythm  makes  prominent  as  in  prose,  every 
second  or  third  accent;  but  metrical  rhythm,  i.  e.,  metrey 
regards  every  accent.  When  reading  verse,  the  accents 
seem  to  mark  it  off ;  if  marching,  our  feet  would  keep  time 
to  them.  Hence,  as  many  syllables  as  can  be  grouped 
about  one  syllable  clearly  accented,  are  termed  a  measure 
or  foot, —  words  synonymous  as  applied  to  English  verse ; 
though  the  classic  measure  sometimes  contained  two  feet. 
— Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art,  ii. 

^ESTHETICS,  AS  DEVELOPED  IN  PROFESSOR  RAYMOND'S  BOOKS. 

{Recapitulation.)  In  the  volumes  following  "Art  in 
Theory,"  the  order  of  thought  adopted  in  that  book  is 
reversed.  Having  begun  the  discussion  of  the  general 
subject  by  observing  forms  as  they  have  been  produced  by 
art,  and  drawing  inferences  from  them,  ending  with  the 
final  inference  that  all  are  necessarily  expressive  of  a  certain 


a       "^  ^       AN  Akt-?HILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

sign^.ficanc-g,  it  ^ieerrre<l  natural  that  the  endeavor  in  sub- 
sequent volumes  to  determine  how  art  should  fulfil  the 
requirements  indicated  in  the  introductory  volume  should 
start  with  significance,  and  work  outward,  showing  what 
different  conceptions  it  is  possible  to  express  in  art,  and  how 
these  determine  its  form.  In  pursuing  this  line  of  thought, 
the  first  thing  to  do,  of  course,  was  to  examine  the  connec- 
tion between  significance  and  form  in  general.  This  sub- 
ject was  assigned  to  the  volume  of  the  series  entitled  **The 
Representative  Significance  of  Form."  The  next  thing  to 
do  was  to  examine  the  connection  between  significance  and 
the  possible  forms  of  each  of  the  different  arts  in  particular. 
This  was  done  in  the  volume  entitled  "Poetry  as  a  Repre- 
sentative Art";  also  in  that  part  of  the  volume  entitled 
**Rh5rthm  and  Harmony  in  Poetry  and  Music"  which  is 
devoted  to  the  discussion  of  **  Music  as  a  Representative 
Art,"  as  well  as  in  the  volume  entitled  "Painting,  Sculp- 
ture, and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts."  Having 
examined  the  methods  of  representing  significance  through 
form  in  general,  and  in  each  class  of  forms  in  each  different 
art  in  particular,  the  next  thing  to  do  was  to  examine  form 
in  itself — that  is,  as  something  which,  though  influenced  by 
significance,  and  in  practice  always  connected  with  signifi- 
cance, may,  nevertheless,  for  the  purposes  of  analytic  study, 
be  considered  as  existing  apart  from  anything  else,  and  as 
developing  according  to  laws  having  to  do  mainly,  if  not 
solely,  with  that  which  pertains  to  the  appeal  to  the  senses. 
Here,  in  analogy  to  the  course  pursued  when  studying  sig- 
nificance, attention  was  directed  first  to  the  sources, 
methods,  and  effects  of  form  in  general.  This  was  done  in 
the  volume  entitled  "The  Genesis  of  Art-Form."  Next, 
what  had  been  learned  with  reference  to  form  in  general  was 
applied  to  form  as  manifested  in  each  of  the  arts.  This  was 
done  in  the  two  concluding  volumes  of  the  series,  "  Rhythm 
and  Harmony  in  Poetry  and  Music,"  and  "Proportion  and 
Harmony  of  Line  and  Color  in  Painting,  Sculpture,  and 
Architecture." — Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color ^ 

XXVI. 

ESTHETICS,  AS  INFLUENCING  MANNERS. 

What  is  the  reason  that  a  man  of  aesthetic  culture  is  the 
last  to  come  into  his  home  swearing  like  a  cowboy,  cocking 
his  hat  over  the  vases  on  the  mantelpiece,  or  forcing  his 
boots  up  into  their  society  ?     Because  this  sort  of  manner  is 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  3 

not  to  his  taste.  Why  not?  Because,  for  one  reason,  he 
has  learned  the  value  of  little  matters  of  appearance;  and 
for  any  man  to  learn  of  them  in  one  department  is  to  learn 
of  them  in  all  departments. — Essay  on  Art  and  Education, 

.ESTHETICS,  AS  INFLUENCING  SCIENCE  AND  RELIGION  {seC  dlso 

mention  of  the  first  under  art,  religion,  awe?  science). 

Esthetic  studies,  among  which  one  may  include  anything 
that  has  to  do  with  elocution,  poetry,  music,  drawing,  paint- 
ing, modeling,  building,  or  furnishing,  whether  we  consider 
their  influence  upon  the  artist  or  upon  the  patron  of  art, 
are  needed,  in  order  to  connect  and  complete  the  results  of 
education  as  developed  through  science  alone  or  through 
religion  alone.  These  studies  can  do  for  our  minds  what 
science  cannot,  crowning  its  work  with  the  halo  of  imagina- 
tion and  lighting  its  path  to  discovery.  They  can  do  for 
us  what  religion  cannot,  grounding  its  conceptions  upon 
accuracy  of  observation  and  keeping  them  true  to  facts. 
Art  unites  the  separated  intellectual  influences  of  the  two 
other  spheres.  It  can  not  only  hold  the  mirror  up  to  nature, 
but  it  can  make  all  nature  a  mirror,  and  hold  it  up  to  the 
heavens.  In  times  of  intellectual  and  spiritual  storm  and 
stress,  when  night  is  above  and  waves  below  and  winds 
behind  and  breakers  ahead,  the  voice  of  art  can  sometimes 
speak  peace  to  conflicting  elements,  and  bring  a  great  calm; 
and  then,  in  the  blue  at  our  feet,  we  can  see  not  only  a  little 
of  the  beauty  of  a  little  of  the  surface  of  the  little  star  in 
which  we  live,  but  something  also  of  the  grandeur  of  all  the 
stars  of  all  the  universe. — Idem. 

.ESTHETICS,   MEANING  OF. 

The  word  (Esthetics  is  traceable  to  a  work  termed  **iEs- 
thetica,  "publishedin  Germany  in  1750,  by  A.  G.  Baumgarten. 
The  word  was  derived  from  the  Greek  a?a0Y)Ttx6<;  meaning 
*' fitted  to  be  perceived,"  and  is  now  used  to  designate  that 
which  is  fitted  to  the  requirements  of  what  philosophers 
term  perception;  in  other  words,  fitted  to  accord  with  the 
laws,  whether  of  physiology  or  psychology,  which  make 
effects  appealing  to  the  mind  through  the  organs  of  per- 
ception— i.  e.,  through  the  senses — satisfactory,  agreeable, 
and,  as  we  say,  beautiful.  If  such  effects  need  to  be  **  fitted  '* 
to  be  perceived,  they,  of  course,  need  to  be  made  to  differ 
from  the  condition  in  which  they  are  presented  in  nature. 
That  which  causes  them  to  differ  from  this  is  art.    Esthetics 


4  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

is  the  science  of  the  beautiful  as  exempHfied  in  art.  The 
latter  has  to  do  with  the  processes  through  which  a  sight  or 
a  sound  may  be  "fitted  to  be  perceived";  the  former,  with 
the  effects  after  it  has  been  put  through  these  processes. 
One  cannot  be  artistic  without  being  able  to  design  and 
produce ;  he  may  be  cBsthetic,  when  able  merely  to  appreciate 
and  enjoy  the  results  of  design  and  production.  The 
German  term  for  the  science,  which  some  have  tried  to 
introduce  into  English,  is  (Esthetic.  But  this  term,  except 
when  employed  as  an  adjective,  seems  to  be  out  of  analogy 
with  English  usage.  According  to  it,  the  singular  end- 
ing ic,  as  in  logic  and  music,  commonly  designates  some  single 
department  in  which  the  methods  of  the  science  produce 
similar  results.  The  plural  ending  ics,  as  in  mathematics, 
physics,  mechanics,  and  ethics,  commonly  designates  a  group 
of  various  departments,  in  which  similar  methods  produce 
greatly  varying  results.  The  many  different  departments 
both  of  sight  and  of  sound  in  which  can  be  applied  the 
principles  underlying  effects  that  can  be  "fitted  to  be  per- 
ceived, "  seem  to  render  it  appropriate  and  important  that  in 
English  the  science  treating  of  them  should  be  termed 
(Esthetics. — Essentials  of  Esthetics,  Preliminary  Note. 

ESTHETICS  vs.  UTILITY  {sCC  also  ART  EXPRESSING  THOUGHT). 

Of  course,  in  certain  respects,  these  (aesthetic)  arts  may 
be  as  useful  as  any  that  are  termed  useful:  but  the  utility 
in  them  is  always  such  as  produces  not  a  material  but  a 
mental  result,  and  even  no  mental  result  except  indirectly 
through  an  effect  upon  the  senses. — Art  in  Theory,  ii. 

ALTERNATION  AS  RELATED  TO  PROPORTION. 

The  pillars  alternate  with  the  spaces  between  the  pillars. 
In  such  cases,  if  all  the  pillars,  as  compared  with  one  another 
and  not  with  the  spaces  between  them,  are  of  like  apparent 
dimensions,  and  also  all  the  spaces,  as  compared  with  one 
another  and  not  with  the  pillars,  then  it  is  not  necessary 
that  the  ratio  between  the  dimensions  of  the  pillars  and 
the  dimension  of  the  spaces  should  be  easily  recognized.  .  .  . 
Whatever  may  be  the  ratio,  the  mind  will  take  in  at  a  glance 
the  fact  that  one  pillar  is  to  the  space  next  to  it  as  a  second 
pillar  is  to  a  second  space.  In  Cologne  Cathedral  towers,  it 
is  important  that  the  storeys,  as  they  have  been  termed, 
should  seem — though  gradually  diminished  in  order  to 
Increase  the  apparent  height — of  like  height,  and  that  the 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  5 

same  should  seem  to  be  the  case  with  the  cornices  or  mould- 
ings separating  these  storeys;  but  it  is  less  important  that 
the  exact  ratio  between  the  height  of  the  storeys  and  the 
height  of  the  mouldings  should  be  recognized.  In  all  these 
cases,  too,  it  is  important,  that,  while  the  alternating 
measurements  seem  alike,  the  intervening  ones  should  seem 
sufficiently  unlike  the  others  not  to  confuse  the  mind  by 
suggesting  likeness  where  it  is  not  intended  to  be  suggested. 
— Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color ,  x. 

ANALOGY,    ARGUMENT   FROM. 

An  argument  from  analogy  is  always  derived  from  a  few 
forms  that  are  representative,  on  the  one  hand,  of  a  whole 
series  of  forms,  and  are  representative,  on  the  other  hand, 
of  a  certain  mental  significance  that  is  expressible  through 
forms  alone,  and  is  actually  expressed  through  the  particular 
forms  thus  used. — The  Representative  Significance  of  Fornix 

XII. 

ANALOGY  IN  ART  {see  olso  ART,  THE  CONNECTING  LINK). 

How  now  is  it  with  art?  Its  conceptions  have  been  said 
to  partake  of  the  nature  partly  of  those  of  religion  and 
partly  of  those  of  science.  They  must,  therefore,  be  partly 
indefinite  and  partly  definite;  and  their  expression,  there- 
fore, must  partake  of  the  nature  partly  of  suggestion  and 
partly  of  formulation.  An  indefinite  suggestion  is  imparted 
through  definite  formulation  according  to  the  method  not 
of  logic,  but  of  analogy;  and  a  formulation  of  that  which 
cannot  be  definitely  communicated,  but  only  indefinitely 
suggested,  cannot  be  said  to  be  presented,  but  only  rep- 
resented. These  are  the  reasons  for  maintaining,  as  will  be 
done  in  this  chapter,  that  an  artistic  conception  tends  to 
expression  through  analogical  representation. — Idem,  xi. 

The  fact  that  the  conceptions  of  art,  as  distinguished 
from  those  of  religion  and  of  science,  cannot  communicate 
significance  except  through  the  use  of  analogically  represen- 
tative forms,  involves  a  limitation,  which,  like  all  limita- 
tions, is,  in  one  sense,  a  source  of  weakness.  But,  in  another 
sense,  it  is  a  source  of  strength,  and  a  source  of  this  in  the 
exact  degree  in  which  its  limitations  are  clearly  recognized 
and  no  effort  is  made  to  overstep  them.  What  but  a 
consciousness  of  these  limitations  has  caused  all  our  great 
artists,  when  desiring  to  make  their  presentations  of  truth 
accord  with  the  degree  of  knowledge  or  the  phase  of  thought 


6  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

of  their  own  period  or  country,  to  content  themselves,  in 
place  of  discussing  and  explaining  conditions,  with  merely- 
describing  their  appearances?  But  notice  that  it  is  precisely 
because  they  have  contented  themselves  with  this,  that 
progress  in  knowledge  and  thought,  which  is  constantly 
rendering  obsolete  the  results  presented  in  science  and 
philosophy,  and  even  systems  of  religion,  does  not  interfere 
with  the  enduring  influence  of  works  of  art.  In  these  works, 
certain  appearances  of  material  or  human  nature  have  been 
selected  for  reproduction.  Through  unique  combinations 
of  these,  the  significance  behind  them  has  been  brought  out 
more  uniquely,  yet  the  inferences  which  are  drawn  from 
them,  so  far  as  art  is  strictly  and  solely  representative,  can 
be  drawn  with  as  little  arbitrary  bias  as  from  nature  itself. 
Art  of  this  character  can  appeal  to  the  intelligence  and  the 
sympathy  of  all  audiences  of  all  periods.  Its  significance  can 
be  perceived  and  felt  wherever  men  have  eyes  or  ears,  for 
its  products  continue  always  to  be  what  they  were  when  first 
conceived — faithful  images  of  the  real  life  by  which  human- 
ity is  constantly  surrounded. — Idem,  xii. 

ANALOGY,  WHAT  IT  IS  AND  HOW  USED. 

Imagination  is  accustomed  to  jump  the  steps  of  logic. 
Yet  often,  as  we  have  found,  through  subconscious  intel- 
lection, it  reaches  exactly  the  same  conclusions  as  are 
reached  by  investigation.  How  does  imagination  do  this? 
Through  arguing  not  logically  but  analogically.  The  term 
analogy  is  derived  from  two  Greek  words,  aya,  signifying 
thereon,  and  Xdyoq,  signifying  a  word.  The  conception 
underlying  the  term,  therefore,  seems  to  be  that  a  natural 
appearance,  i.  e.,  a  form  to  which  the  term  is  applied,  has  the 
effect  of  a  word; — that  it  is  a  part  of  that  whole  of  nature 
which  is  frequently  called  the  "unwritten  word."  More- 
over, analogy  implies,  beyond  this,  that  some  one  natural 
appearance  or  form  has  been  compared  with  at  least  one 
other,  which  is  found  to  furnish  a  word  thereon,  or  a  word  in 
addition,  so  that  the  two  or  more  appearances  taken  together 
can  be  considered  as  words  of  the  same  meaning  or  sig- 
nificance. It  is  an  argument  from  an  analogy  between  not 
two  but  many — in  fact,  as  many  as  possible — different 
appearances,  that  causes  the  conception  of  the  unity  of 
nature. — Idem,  xii. 

A  work  of  art  completes  our  ideal  of  that  which  should 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  7 

characterize  an  image  of  nature,  in  the  degree  only  in  which 
it  is  a  word  in  addition,  in  the  sense  of  being  something  that 
both  suggests  nature  in  appearance  and,  at  the  same  time, 
exempHfies  the  laws  that  operate  in  nature.  We  term  the 
work  one  of  creative  imagination  mainly  because,  in  both 
form  and  significance,  in  the  way  in  which  it  appeals  to 
both  the  physical  senses  and  to  the  whole  mind,  it  seems 
to  be  a  continuation  of  the  work  of  creation. — Ideniy  xii. 

ANGLO-SAXON  WORDS,  WHY  POETIC   {see  WORDS,  FOREIGN). 

The  principles  just  unfolded  are  closely  related — in 
connection,  however,  with  one  or  two  other  considerations — 
to  that  preference  which  almost  all  English  poets  exhibit  for 
words  of  native  or  Anglo-Saxon  origin.  .  .  .  The  words  of 
Anglo-Saxon  origin  include  most  of  those  used  in  our  youth, 
in  connection  with  which,  owing  to  long  familiarity  with 
them,  we  have  the  most  definite  possible  associations. 
Whenever  we  hear  these  words,  therefore,  they  seem  pre- 
eminently representative. 

Then,  too,  we  hear  in  the  Anglo-Saxon  derivatives,  to  a 
greater  extent  than  in  the  foreign,  the  sounds  which,  when 
originally  uttered,  were  meant  to  be  significant  of  their 
sense.  In  fact,  almost  all  the  words  instanced  in  another 
place  as  having  sounds  of  this  kind  were  Anglo-Saxon.  On 
the  contrary,  almost  all  our  words  derived  from  the  Latin 
through  the  French  have  suffered  a  radical  change  in  sound, 
both  in  the  French  language  and  in  our  own.  Therefore 
their  sounds,  if  ever  significant  of  their  meanings,  can 
scarcely  be  expected  to  be  so  now. 

Again,  we  know,  as  a  rule,  the  history  of  our  Anglo- 
Saxon  terms,  inasmuch  as  we  still  use  them  in  their  differ- 
ent meanings  and  applications,  as  developed  by  association 
and  comparison.  But  foreign  words  are  usually  imported 
into  our  language  in  order  to  designate  some  single  definite 
conception,  and  often  one  very  different  from  that  which 
they  designated  originally.  All  of  us,  for  instance,  can  see 
the  different  meanings  of  a  word  like  way  or  fair  and  the 
connections  between  them;  but  to  most  of  us  words  like 
dunce  and  pagans,  from  the  Latin  Duns  and  pagani,  have 
only  the  effects  of  arbitrary  symbols. 

One  other  reason  applies  to  compound  words.  If  the 
different  terms  put  together  in  these  exist  and  are  in  pres- 
ent use  in  our  own  language,  as  is  the  case  with  most  of  our 


8  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

native  compounds,  then  each  part  of  the  compound  con- 
veys a  distinct  idea  of  its  separate  meaning;  so  that  we 
clearly  perceive  in  the  word  its  different  factors.  For  in- 
stance, the  terms  uprightness,  overlook,  underwriter,  under- 
standing, pastime,  all  summon  before  the  mind  both  of 
the  ideas  which  together  make  up  the  word.  We  recognize, 
at  once,  whatever  comparison  or  picture  it  represents.  In 
compound  words  of  entirely  foreign  origin,  on  the  contrary, 
it  is  almost  invariably  the  case  that,  at  least,  one  of  the 
factors  does  not  exist  at  present  in  our  own  tongue.  In- 
tegrity meant  a  picture  to  the  Roman.  But  none  of  us  use 
the  word  from  which  its  chief  factor  is  derived.  So  we  fail 
to  see  the  picture.  Nor  do  we  use  either  factor  of  the  words 
depravity,  defer,  retire. — Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art,  xvii. 

ARCHITECTURE  (see  mention  of  it  under  comparison,  com- 
position, PROPORTION,  and  representation), 

ARCHITECTURE  AND  MUSIC,   WHY  BUT   SLIGHTLY  IMITATIVE. 

The  musician  constructs  an  entire  symphony  from  a  single 
significant  series  of  tones,  and  the  architect  constructs  an 
entire  building  from  a  significant  series  of  outlines.  At 
the  same  time,  there  is,  in  both  arts,  an  occasional  return 
to  nature  for  the  purpose  of  incorporating,  if  not  imitating, 
in  the  product  some  new  expression  of  significance.  But 
the  fact  that  they  are  both  developed  from  this  sustained 
and  subjective  method  of  giving  expression  to  a  first  sugges- 
tion, makes  such  a  return  to  nature  much  less  frequent  in 
them  than  in  the  other  arts. — Painting,  Sculpture,  and 
Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,  xvii. 

One  more  point  of  similarity  between  music  and  archi- 
tecture ought,  perhaps,  to  be  mentioned.  It  is  this,  that 
while,  as  among  very  young  children,  for  instance,  the  in- 
articulated  tones  that  develop  into  music  antedate  the 
articulated  words  that  develop  into  poetry,  the  artistic 
forms  of  music,  as  in  melody  and  harmony,  are  developed 
much  later  than  those  of  poetry.  In  the  same  way,  too, 
while  the  building  of  huts  that  develops  into  architecture 
antedates  the  drawing,  coloring,  and  carving  that  develop 
into  painting  and  sculpture,  the  artistic  forms  of  architec- 
ture, as  in  ornamental  columns,  pediments,  and  spires,  are 
developed  later  than  painting  and  sculpture  of,  at  least, 
sufficient  excellence  to  merit  recognition.  Of  course,  the 
human  being  is  obliged  at  a  very  early  stage  in  his  history 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  9 

to  provide  means  of  shelter.  But  he  is  not  influenced  to 
construct  that  which  he  erects  in  such  a  way  as  to  give 
expression  to  his  thoughts  and  emotions,  which  is  essential 
for  an  artistic  motive,  as  early  as  he  is  influenced  to  draw 
pictures  for  the  same  purpose.  A  boy,  or  a  boylike  savage, 
using  a  pencil  or  knife,  will  enjoy  expressing  his  thoughts 
and  emotions  by  way  of  imitation  for  its  own  sake,  long 
before  he  will  enjoy  doing  the  same  for  the  sake  of  ornament- 
ing what  would  be  just  as  useful  without  ornamentation. 
In  the  former  case,  his  mind  begins  by  being  at  play;  in 
the  latter,  by  being  at  work ;  and  his  first  desire  always  is 
to  be  rid  of  work.  — Idem,  xvii. 

ARCHITECTURE,  ARTISTIC,  DEVELOPED  FROM  USEFUL  CON- 
STRUCTION [see  also  ornament). 
Using  as  a  theme  a  few  notes  representing  a  mood  of  mind 
as  indicated  by  a  song  of  nature,  the  musician  goes  on  to 
compose  a  whole  symphony  to  correspond  with  them.  So, 
from  a  few  outlines  of  windows,  doors,  or  roofs,  the  archi- 
tect goes  on  to  construct  a  whole  building  to  correspond  with 
these.  This  method  he  applies  not  only  to  the  development 
of  new  forms,  but  to  the  ornamentation  of  old  forms.  In 
doing  this,  he  merely  carries  out  a  principle  exemplified  in 
the  action  of  the  human  mind  in  any  like  relation.  For 
instance,  a  man,  for  practical  purposes,  produces  a  piece  of 
woven  cloth  or  something  made  through  the  use  of  it.  That 
the  cloth  may  not  ravel  at  its  edge,  a  section  of  it  is  pur- 
posely unraveled  there,  or  a  hem  is  made  here,  or,  if  two 
pieces  of  cloth  be  used,  a  seam  is  produced  where  the  two 
are  joined.  After  a  little,  according  to  a  law  which  the  mind 
always  follows,  the  imagination  begins  to  experiment  with 
these  necessary  contrivances,  and  then  the  unraveled  edge, 
the  hem,  the  seam,  each  respectively,  becomes  a  fringe,  a 
border,  or  a  stripe;  i.  e.,  each  is  developed  into  one  of  the 
well-known  ornamental  resources  of  the  art  of  the  tailor 
or  the  upholsterer.  It  is  the  same  in  architecture.  When 
the  imagination  begins  to  play  with  the  underpinnings  of 
buildings,  or  with  the  means  of  approaching  and  entering 
them,  it  gives  us  foundations,  steps,  or  porches ;  when  with 
the  parts  upholding  the  roof,  it  gives  us  pillars,  pilasters,  or 
buttresses;  and  when  with  the  upper  or  lower  parts  of 
openings,  it  gives  us  caps,  or  sills,  of  doors  or  windows ;  when 
with  the  roof  and  its  immediate  supports,  it  gives  entabla- 


10  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

tures,  eves,  gables,  domes,  or  spires.  All  these  features, 
moreover,  are  representative.  If  the  foundations  be  appar- 
ent and  large,  they  indicate  support  and  sufficient  support. 
If  the  steps  or  entrances  be  broad,  they  indicate  accommoda- 
tions on  the  inside  for  a  multitude.  If  the  windows  be  high 
or  wide,  they  indicate  a  high  or  wide  room  on  the  inside. 
In  thoroughly  successful  architecture,  the  walls  are  es- 
pecially transparent,  as  it  were,  revealing  the  internal  ar- 
rangements. Horizontal  mouldings  or  string-courses  show 
where  the  floors  are,  and  vertical  buttresses  or  pilasters, 
where  are  the  partitions.  Roofs,  when  artistic,  are  visible. 
In  public  buildings,  at  least,  they  should  indicate  the  shapes 
of  the  ceilings  under  them.  A  dome  is  out  of  place  unless  it 
span  a  vast  space;  and  towers  and  spires  are  inexcusable 
unless  they  be  adaptations  of  features  that  are  useful. — 
Essentials  of  Esthetics,  vii. 

ARCHITECTURE,    COLD  AND    WARM   COLOR    IN    (see  COLOR.) 

As  applied  to  architecture,  it  is  evident  that,  aside  from 
the  effects  of  form,  which  in  certain  cases  may  entirely 
counterbalance  those  of  color,  the  colder  the  color,  the  more 
massive,  as  a  rule,  will  appear  not  only  the  building  itself 
but  also  the  grounds  about  it;  the  effect  of  the  cold  color 
being  to  make  the  house  and  its  parts  seem  at  a  greater 
distance  from  the  observer,  and,  therefore,  greater  in  size 
than  it  would  be  at  the  supposed  distance.  Hence,  another 
reason  for  using  cold  colors  in  grand  buildings.  The  same 
principle  applies  to  the  painting  and  the  papering  of  an 
interior.  The  warm  colors  cause  an  apartment  to  seem 
smaller  and  more  cozy,  and  the  cold  colors  exactly  the 
opposite.  The  latter  on  the  walls,  therefore,  not  only  for 
the  reason  suggested  on  page  204,  but  because  of  these 
uncozy  effects,  are  objectionable.  But  for  ceilings,  es- 
pecially of  public  halls  and  churches,  blue  at  least  is  rightly 
popular.  Thus  used  it  suggests  largeness  and  elevation,  as 
in  the  sky  which  it  seems  to  resemble;  and  it  also  furnishes, 
as  a  rule,  an  agreeable  contrast  to  the  warmer  colors  appro- 
priate for  the  walls. — Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture 
as  Representative  Arts,  xi. 

ARCHITECTURE  DEVELOPED  FROM  ORDINARY  BUILDING. 

The  earliest  human  dwellings  are  supposed  to  have  been 
caves,  or  very  rudely  constructed  huts.  According  to  the 
views  presented  in  "  Art  in  Theory,"  so  long  as  men  expended 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  li 

no  thought  or  emotion  upon  these  beyond  that  needed  in 
order  to  secure  an  end  of  utility  there  was  no  art  of  archi- 
tecture. But  it  is  impossible  to  conceive  that  the  human 
mind  would  not  begin  very  soon,  in  this  department  as  in 
all  others,  to  pay  some  attention  to  aesthetic  ends.  .  .  . 
The  earliest  traces  of  architecture  indicate  endeavors  to 
make  pictures — of  course,  as  the  material  used  was  stone, 
to  make  sculptured  pictures — out  of  that  which  was  being 
constructed.  Fig.  .  .  .  for  instance,  represents  one  of  the 
earliest  attempts  at  architecture,  that  has  been  discovered 
in  Asia  Minor.  Looking  at  it,  one  would  suppose  that  it  was 
a  cave,  in  front  of  which  a  framework  of  wood  had  been 
erected.  Not  at  all.  .  .  .  These  apparently  wooden  col- 
umns and  beams  have  been  carved  out  of  the  native  stone 
of  the  cave.  Why  has  this  been  done?  Can  any  one  doubt 
the  reason  of  it?  Can  any  one  fail  to  perceive  in  them  the 
influence  of  a  picturesque  and  statuesque  motive?  Can 
even  those  who  prophesied  so  confidently  that  the  theory 
of  this  series  of  essays  was  sure  to  break  down  when  it 
came  to  be  applied  to  architecture,  be  so  dull  as  not  to  see 
that  this  wellnigh  earliest  architecture  of  which  we  know 
was  distinctively  representative?  Observe,  too,  that  it 
was  representative  of  both  mental  conceptions  and  material 
appearances.  No  one  looking  at  the  entrance  of  the  one 
cave,  or  the  interior  of  the  other,  could  fail  to  recognize 
both  that  a  man  had  been  at  work  upon  it,  and  also  that 
he  had  been  at  work  for  the  purpose  of  reproducing  that 
which  he  had  seen  elsewhere.  It  would  represent  the  man, 
because  one  would  know  that  the  person  who  had  planned 
the  carving  had  been  accustomed  to  wooden  constructions, 
and  it  would  represent  his  thought  or  feeling  with  refer- 
ence to  these,  because  it  would  show  his  appreciation  and 
admiration  of  certain  of  their  effects.  Otherwise  he  would 
never  have  tried  to  reproduce  similar  effects  through  the 
use  of  material  infinitely  harder  to  shape. — Paintings 
Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,  xvil. 

ARCHITECTURE  DIFFERENT  FROM  ORDINARY  BUILDING. 

While  no  one  confounds  poetry,  painting,  or  sculpture 
with  the  early  inartistic  form  of  expression  from  which  it 
is  developed,  there  are  many  who  suppose  that  everything 
used  for  the  purpose  of  shelter,  even  the  rudest  hut  of  the 
savage,  is  an  exemplification  of  architecture.     But  one 


12  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

might  as  well  suppose  everything  of  the  nature  of  language 
to  be  an  exemplification  of  poetry.  It  has  a  relation  to 
poetry.  It  contains  the  germs  from  which  the  art  grows; 
but  this  is  all.  So  with  the  hut  of  the  savage,  and  with 
many  constructions  more  pretentious.  An  ordinary  wood- 
shed has  no  more  to  do  with  architecture  than  the  cry  of 
our  nursery,  the  talk  of  our  kitchen,  the  sign  of  our  barber, 
or  the  rock  of  our  curbstone  has  to  do  with  the  respective 
art  to  which  it  seems  allied,  whether  music,  poetry,  painting, 
or  sculpture. — Idem,  xx. 

ARCHITECTURE,   EXPRESSION  IN. 

Underlying  architecture  too,  there  are  subjective  modes 
of  expression.  There  are  the  ideas,  for  instance,  of  support 
and  shelter;  and  these  ideas  it  is  by  no  means  impossible 
or  unusual  to  represent  by  gesture.  Moreover,  in  all  the 
other  arts  too  there  are  objective  products  intervening  be- 
tween the  subjective  and  the  artistic  forms.  Artificial 
resonant  sounds,  spoken  and  written  language,  hieroglyphic 
drawings  and  carvings  are  conditions  that  antedate  music, 
poetry,  painting,  or  sculpture,  no  less  than  house  building 
antedates  architecture.  House  building,  moreover,  accord- 
ing to  the  principles  that  have  been  unfolded,  is  no  less 
truly  a  form  of  natural  expression  than  these  others  are. 
It  springs  from  the  nature  of  the  primitive  man,  precisely 
as  nest-building  or  dam-building  from  the  nature  of  the 
bird  or  the  beaver. 

That  architecture  does  not  reproduce  the  forms  of  nature 
in  as  strict  a  sense  as  do  poetry,  painting,  and  sculpture 
is  true;  yet,  as  we  shall  find  hereafter,  its  products  are 
modeled  upon  these  forms  in  as  strict  a  sense  as  is  the  case 
in  music.  This  art,  like  it,  is  evolved  from  the  unfolding 
of  the  principles  underlying  nature's  methods  of  formation 
even  more  than  from  a  reproduction  of  its  actual  forms. 
And  yet  architecture  does  reproduce  these  latter.  The 
portico  of  the  Greek  temple  is  acknowledged  to  be  nothing 
more  than  an  elaboration  in  stone,  for  the  sake  merely  of 
elaborating  its  possibilities  of  beauty,  of  the  rude  wooden 
building  with  a  roof  supported  by  posts,  which  was  used 
by  the  primitive  man  in  his  natural  state.  A  Chinese  or 
Japanese  temple  or  palace,  with  its  many  separate  small 
structures,  each  covered  by  a  roof  sagging  downward  from 
the  apex  before  moving  upward  again  at  the  eaves,  is 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  13 

nothing  more  than  an  elaboration  in  wood,  for  the  sake  of 
elaborating  the  possibilities  of  beauty  in  it,  of  the  rude  tent 
used  by  the  nomadic  ancestors  of  these  people  in  their 
primitive  natural  states.  That  Gothic  columns  and  arches 
are  merely  imitative  elaborations,  for  the  same  reason,  of 
the  methods  and  manners  of  support  suggested  by  arrange- 
ments of  rows  of  tree- trunks  and  their  branches,  has  been 
strenuously  denied  and  even  ridiculed.  But  the  fact  re- 
mains that  an  avenue  of  trees  with  bending  branches  in- 
variably suggests  the  effect  of  a  Gothic  cathedral.  If  so, 
why  could  it  not  have  suggested  the  conception  of  a  Gothic 
cathedraltothearchitect  who  first  planned  one?  .  .  .  There 
is  nothing  in  the  art  itself  necessarily  removing  it  from  a 
sphere  identical  with  that  of  painting  and  sculpture.  Its 
products,  it  is  true,  must  fulfil  the  purely  technical  prin- 
ciples of  mechanical  contrivance.  But  so  must  works  of 
music  fulfil  the  principles  of  harmony,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  technique  of  execution.  So  must  works  of  poetry  or 
painting  or  sculpture  fulfil  the  principles  of  grammar, 
rhythm,  rhyme,  color,  or  proportion.  But  in  all  these 
arts  equally  the  fulfilment  of  such  laws  is  only  a  means  to 
an  end.  That  end  is  the  distinctively  human  satisfaction 
derived  from  elaborating  forms  in  excess  of  that  which  is 
demanded  in  order  to  meet  the  exigencies  of  material  utiHty , 
elaborating  them  simply  because  they  are  felt  to  be  attrac- 
tive and  beautiful  in  themselves. — Art  in  Theory,  viii. 

ARCHITECTURE,  EXPRESSIVE  OF  CHARACTER  {see  alsO  ARCHI- 
TECTURE REPRESENTATIVE,  MORALITY  AS  INFLUENCED 
BY  ARCHITECTURE,  and  SKYSCRAPERS). 

Is  it  too  much  to  say  that  subtle  analysis  may  occasionally 
find  reason  to  suspect  that  it  is  the  lack  of  the  good  and 
the  true  in  American  manhood,  that  causes  the  lack  of  the 
beautiful  in  the  American  city  street  or  college  campus? 
Is  it  this  lack  in  character  that  destroys  the  symmetry 
of  adjoining  buildings  by  throwing  the  cornice  of  the  last 
comer  just  enough  above  that  of  its  fellows  to  produce 
the  effect — and  for  a  similar  reason — of  the  feather  that 
stands  straighter  and  higher  than  any  surrounding  it,  in 
the  head-gear  of  the  uncivilized  Indian?  And  then,  be- 
sides the  outHnes,  think  for  a  moment  of  the  inharmony 
of  the  colors! — sometimes  of  the  paint,  sometimes  of  the 
brick  and  stone,  imported  too,  at  great  expense  from  distant 


14  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

places,  to  afford  another  opportunity  for  the  snob*s  exhibi- 
tion of  himself !  The  whole  method  of  procedure  is  as  fatal 
to  the  requirements  of  sound  sesthetics  as  of  neighborly 
courtesy. — The  Representative  Significance  of  Form,  xxiv. 

ARCHITECTURE,  FRAUD  IN  (see  also  ORNAMENT). 

Is  it  not  about  time  that  mansard  roofs  and  wooden 
cornices,  which  are  no  real  roofs  or  cornices  at  all,  with 
their  various  mouldings  almost  as  light  as  if  intentionally 
curled  into  shavings,  should  be  committed  to  the  flames, 
once  and  forever?  This  is  said  not  merely  because  they 
are  frauds,  but  because  they  are — what  in  art  is  worse — 
palpable  frauds,  frauds  clearly  seen  to  afford  no  legitimate 
conclusion  whatever  to  a  wall  of  stone, — donkey's  ears 
protruding  where  they  are  clearly  seen  to  have  no  connec- 
tion with  the  body  under  them. — Idem, 

A  more  radical  and,  for  this  reason,  thorough  way  of 
correcting  the  error  would  be  to  avoid  all  deceit,  and,  in 
accordance  with  the  method  in  art  sometimes  termed  sin- 
cerity {see  page  407) ,  to  arrange  the  materials  in  such  ways 
that  the  apparent  support  would  be  the  real  support.  In 
an  age  of  iron,  why  should  not  the  iron  be  shown,  and  al- 
lowed to  reveal  its  genuine  character?  If  a  roof  be  really 
supported  by  steel  girders,  why  should  not  the  steel  be 
visible?  A  ceiling  of  wood,  revealing  its  natural  colors 
and  grainings,  resting  on  beams  of  polished  or  nickel- 
plated  steel,  might  be  made  to  have  effects,  both  as  regards 
material  and  color,  in  the  highest  sense  chaste  and  beautiful. 
The  metal  might  even  be  ornamented  and  as  legitimately 
too  as  if  it  were  bronze. — Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Archi- 
tecture as  Representative  Arts,  xviii. 

ARCHITECTURE    INFLUENCED    BY    A    ONE-SIDED    THEORY. 

Fifteen  years  ago  everybody  in  Boston  was  talking  about 
"sincerity"  in  art.  As  applied  to  building  a  house,  this 
meant  that  every  respective  bath-room,  or  closet,  or  stair- 
case should  be  indicated  on  the  exterior  by  a  significantly 
constructed  window,  or  blank  space,  or  protuberance, — a 
thoroughly  sound  principle  so  far  as  it  was  applicable. 
But  with  the  narrowness  and  the  lack,  in  a  distinctive  sense, 
of  comprehension  characterizing  the  artistic  notions  of  our 
country,  the  principle  was  applied  to  everything — to  every 
exterior  effect,  for  instance,  without  any  regard  to  any 
requirements  of  proportion  or  harmony.     There  followed 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  15 

those  developments  of  the  "Queen  Anne"  style,  which 
even  the  unbalanced  conceptions  of  American  criticism  had 
sense  enough  to  nickname  "Bloody  Mary"  and  "Crazy 
Jane."  Probably,  however,  even  these  were  an  advance 
upon  the  method  pursued  in  the  construction  of  the  old 
Douglas  Park  University  of  Chicago,  a  huge  Gothic  build- 
ing, the  exterior  of  which  is  said  to  have  been  actually 
completed  before  any  attempt  had  been  made  to  decide 
upon  the  rooms  or  halls  to  be  placed  in  the  interior.  Why 
should  this  not  have  been  the  case?  In  those  days,  when 
men  wanted  a  meat  market  or  a  prison,  they  put  up  indis- 
criminately what  was  supposed  to  resemble  either  a  Gothic 
cathedral  or  a  Greek  temple.  There  is  no  necessity  of 
stopping  to  argue  how  far  all  buildings  manifesting  so 
partial  a  regard  for  the  requirements  of  art  rank  below  one 
in  which  the  claims  of  both  significance  and  form  have 
been  given  due  weight,  whether  it  be  a  private  house  or  a 
public  hall,  a  villa  on  the  Rhine  or  a  cathedral  at  Cologne. — 
Rhythm  and  Harmony  in  Poetry  and  Music;  Introduction 
to  Music  as  a  Representative  Art. 

The  one  thing  which  can  enable  an  architect  to  produce 
that  which,  so  long  as  it  survives,  may  have  a  right  to 
claim  attention  as,  in  its  own  style,  a  model,  is  this, — to 
bear  in  mind  the  double  character  of  all  artistic  effects. 
Depending  partly  upon  outward  form,  which  mainly  re- 
quires a  practice  of  the  method  pursued  in  classic  art,  and 
partly  upon  the  thought  or  design  embodied  in  the  form, 
which  mainly  requires  a  practice  of  the  method  pursued 
in  romantic  art,  these  artistic  effects  appeal  partly  to  the 
outward  senses  and  partly  to  the  inward  mind;  and  only 
when  they  appeal  to  both  are  the  highest  possibilities  of 
any  art  realized. — Art  in  Theory^  iii. 

ARCHITECTURE  INFLUENCED  BY   FORMS  IN  NATURE. 

The  simple  truth  seems  to  be  that  the  changes  from  the 
style  of  building  determined  by  the  use  of  the  horizontal 
line,  the  circular  arch,  and  the  pointed  arch,  were  not 
caused  merely  by  the  necessities  of  construction,  .  .  .  but 
also  by  the  appearances  of  similar  forms  in  nature.  The 
exact  effect  given  to  the  nave  of  a  Gothic  cathedral  cannot 
be  attributable  merely  to  a  development  of  methods  of 
construction,  nor  to  an  imitation  of  cheaper  buildings.  It 
is  of  the  same  character  as  that  which  has  been  shown  to 


j6  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

be  true  of  any  representation  of  natural  objects  when  first 
attempted.  We  merely  associate  the  nave  with  the  natural 
appearances  which  it  only  suggests. — Paintings  Sculpture, 
and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,  xxi. 

One  of  the  most  charming  features  in  connection  with  the 
castles  on  the  Rhine,  for  instance,  is  their  apparent  cor- 
respondence— always  in  the  nature  and  color  of  the  building- 
material,  and  sometimes  in  outline — to  the  demands  of  the 
surrounding  scenery.  Art  seems  in  them  to  have  simply 
carried  out  the  suggestions  of  nature.  Indeed,  had  we  time 
for  it,  it  would  be  interesting  to  study  the  extent  to  which 
such  suggestions  have  influenced  those  who  have  originated 
different  styles  of  architecture.  On  the  borders  of  the  Nile, 
where  the  eye  must  see  constantly  the  low  and  seldom  un- 
dulating lines  of  the  horizon  giving  way  to  the  clean-cut 
limits  of  an  almost  cloudless  sky,  where  man  learns  of  multi- 
formity mainly  through  the  squarely  shaped  limbs  of  the 
cactus  and  the  palm,  the  proudest  achievement  of  Egyptian 
architecture  seems  to  have  been  to  chisel  angular  outlines 
like  those  of  the  pyramids,  and  to  embody  an  ideal  of  sym- 
metry in  the  stiff  smile  of  the  sphynx.  But  just  across  the 
sea,  amid  the  same  clearness  of  atmosphere,  yet  surrounded 
by  a  more  generous  guise  of  objects  on  the  earth,  that  heave 
heavenward  through  grand  hills  and  bend  genially  down 
amid  the  shadows  of  mysterious  groves,  have  been  reared 
the  no  less  distinctly  outlined  but  far  more  varied  and 
symmetrical  column  and  capital  of  the  Grecian  temple. 
Beyond  this  land  again,  amid  the  vapory  climate  of  the 
north,  where  on  either  side  the  high  horizon  reaches  up  in 
outlines  indistinct,  that  blend  with  mountains  existing 
often  only  in  the  clouds,  the  child  of  storm  and  fog  has 
drawn  the  hazy  lines  that  sprout  and  branch  out  into  pin- 
nacle and  spire  above  the  spirit  whose  ideal  of  architecture 
seems  complete  alone  when  he  is  gazing  upward  toward 
his  lofty  Gothic  arch  and  finial.  To-day,  in  our  own  land, 
with  the  experience  and  the  models  of  the  past  to  guide  us, 
we  may  take  our  choice  of  any  of  these  styles;  and  we  can 
learn  much  from  the  study  of  them.  But  while  we  study 
them  with  care  let  us  be  sure  that  we  are  paying  equal  heed 
to  the  promptings  of  nature  without  us  and  within  us.  Let 
us  be  sure  that  we  are  not  sometimes  producing  forms  that 
are  foreign  to  our  own  surroundings  and  demands,  and  are 
thus  untrue  to  one  of  the  first  principles  of  the  art  in  fulfil- 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  17 

ment  of  which  they  are  supposed  to  be  constructed. — The 
Representative  Significance  of  Fornix  xxiv. 

Not  without  reason,  certain  critics  insist  that  in  choosing 
the  material  for  the  construction  of  a  building,  preference 
should  be  given  to  that  which  is  natural  to  the  district  in 
which  the  building  is  to  stand.  They  say,  for  instance,  that 
in  red  sandstone  districts  it  should  be  built  of  red  sandstone ; 
in  a  gray  granite  district,  of  gray  granite;  or  in  forests  in- 
tended to  be  left  in  a  rustic  state,  of  logs  left  in  a  rustic 
state.  The  idea  is  that  a  building  thus  constructed  will 
appear  to  be  a  part  of  the  surrounding  landscape,  harmon- 
izing with  it  in  color,  and,  upon  a  nearer  inspection,  in 
material  also.  There  is  undoubtedly  much  in  this,  as 
applied  to  a  country  residence.  But,  evidently,  all  the 
truth  that  is  in  it,  is  there  because  it  involves  one  more 
way  of  making  architecture  represent  nature. — Paint- 
ingj   Sculpture,   and   Architecture   as    Representative    Arts, 

XXI. 

ARCHITECTURE  INFLUENCED   BY  FORMS  OF  ART. 

When  our  race,  with  no  models  to  direct  them,  first  began 
to  build  houses  and  temples,  the  external  forms  of  each  were 
determined  by  the  design  for  which  it  was  constructed, — 
a  design  suggested,  as  reflection  will  show  that  it  must 
have  been,  by  the  modes  of  attaining  in  nature  ends  like 
those  of  support,  protection,  and  shelter.  This  being  the 
case,  the  desire  to  attain  these  ends  was  evident  to  every 
one  who  saw  the  building;  in  other  words,  the  building's 
effects  were  artistic  in  the  sense  of  being  genuinely  repre- 
sentative of  the  design  of  the  builder. 

In  process  of  time,  however,  after  many  such  structures 
had  been  erected,  and  some  of  them  had  come  to  be  espe- 
cially admired  for  their  appearance,  a  class  of  artists  arose 
more  intent  to  imitate  this  appearance  than  the  methods 
in  accordance  with  which  the  older  architects  had  designed 
the  buildings  and  caused  them  to  appear  as  they  did.  As 
a  consequence,  there  came  to  be  no  apparent  connection 
between  the  outward  form  of  a  building  and  that  for  which 
it  was  designed; — in  other  words,  architecture  ceased  to 
be  representative,  in  the  sense  in  which  the  word  has  been 
used  in  this  chapter.  But  besides  this,  after  the  arts  of 
painting  and  sculpture  had  been  developed,  architects  began 
to  manifest  a  tendency  to  imitate  the  methods,  if  not  the 


1«  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

appearances,  employed  in  these  oxis.—  The  Representative 
Significance  of  Form,  xxvii. 

Fergusson  ascribes  inferiority  to  modern  architecture  as 
contrasted  with  mediaeval, — though  he  does  not  employ 
these  words, — because  of  the  prevailing  tendency  in  this 
art  to  derive  its  methods  from  painting  and  sculpture  rather 
than  from  the  natural  promptings  and  requirements  of 
architecture  itself.  This  tendency  often  causes  the  builder 
to  be  entirely  satisfied  with  an  "elevation"  that  merely 
makes  a  satisfactory  picture  when  drawn  on  paper.  But, 
as  will  be  shown  in  the  volume  of  this  series  entitled  "  Pro- 
portion and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color,"  the  requirements 
of  perspective  often  prevent  the  parts  of  a  building,  which, 
when  so  drawn,  seem  to  fulfil  the  principles  of  proportion 
from  fulfilling  them  when  put  into  the  building  itself. 
Besides  this,  the  tendency  leads  to  other  forms  of  confusion 
between  the  kinds  of  conceptions  appropriate  for  producing 
effects  in  this  art  and  of  conceptions  that  find  legitimate 
expression  in  the  other  arts  only.  One  element  of  success- 
ful architecture  undoubtedly  is  the  mere  external  appear- 
ance of  a  building.  And  yet,  if  this  alone  be  regarded,  is  it 
not  evident  that  the  building,  according  as  it  is  constructed 
with  exclusive  reference  to  its  position  or  proportions,  will 
be  the  embodiment  of  a  motive  less  legitimate  distinctively 
to  architecture  than  to  landscape-gardening,  painting,  or 
sculpture?  And  is  it  not  because  of  this  confusion  of 
motives  that  we  find  in  our  modern  buildings — in  their  cor- 
nices, roofs,  windows,  and  walls — so  much  that  is  false, 
in  other  words,  so  much  that  is  merely  on  the  outside,  put 
there  to  look  well,  not  to  fulfil  or  to  give  embodiment  to 
any  such  significance  as  it  is  the  peculiar  function  of  archi- 
tecture to  represent?  This  is  not  to  say  that,  in  this  art, 
the  external  form  should  violate  the  laws  of  proportion  or 
harmony;  but  it  is  to  say  that  these  latter  should  be  made 
subordinate  to  the  general  design,  that  they  should  cause 
the  outlines  to  be  so  disposed  as  to  indicate  this  design, 
and  not,  as  is  true  in  too  many  cases,  to  conceal  it. — Idem, 
xxvii. 

ARCHITECTURE,  MODERN,   CAN  BE  ORIGINAL  {see  dlsO  ORIGI- 
NALITY IN  architecture). 
It  is  often  urged  that,  in  our  age  and  country,  no  new 
style  of  architecture  can  be  originated.     With  reference 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  19 

to  this,  something  has  been  said  already  on  page  95  of  "  Art 
in  Theory,"  on  pages  206  and  293  of  "  The  Genesis  of  Art- 
Form,"  on  pages  330  and  406  of  "  Painting,  Sculpture,  and 
Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,"  and  on  page  227  of 
the  present  volume.  It  may  be  said  here  that  probably  we 
can  find  no  other  ways  of  bridging  openings  made  for  doors 
and  windows  than  those  which  have  been  in  vogue  for  cen- 
turies, and  which  have  already  determined  the  chief  char- 
acteristics of  the  Greek,  Romanesque,  and  Gothic  styles, 
namely,  the  horizontal  lintel,  the  round  arch,  and  the  pointed 
arch,  and  that  probably  also  the  necessity  of  securing 
correspondence  in  architecture  must  continue  to  cause  all 
other  outlines  in  our  buildings  to  resemble  these.  Yet 
while  this  is  true,  it  must  also  be  true  that  in  every  period 
in  which  there  is  progress,  progress  is  possible  in  art. 

Our  own  age  has  made  an  advance  upon  all  preceding 
ones  in  two  regards  which  should  have,  and  already  have 
had,  some  influence  upon  our  architecture.  These  are  the 
development  of  our  mineral  resources  and  of  the  faciUties 
of  transportation.  The  one  has  converted  iron,  together 
with  various  combinations  and  modifications  of  it,  into  a 
building  material,  and  the  other  has  lined  our  streets  with 
structures  of  stone  and  brick  exhibiting  every  variety  of 
color.  One  can  scarcely  beheve  otherwise  than  that  if  one 
half  of  the  thought  expended  on  the  Parthenon  were  ex- 
pended upon  incorporating  the  suggestions  and  possibilities 
derived  from  these  two  facts,  we  might  originate  an  archi- 
tectural style  of  our  own  which  would  become  as  classic  and 
deserve  to  be  as  much  admired  as  that  of  the  Greeks.  Iron 
used  for  the  walls  of  buildings  is  inartistic.  It  looks  like 
an  imitation  of  stone  produced  by  wood  and  paint,  while 
it  is  standing;  and  it  cracks,  curls,  melts,  and  ceases  to 
stand  as  soon  as  a  fire  of  any  magnitude  begins  to  heat  it. 
But,  used  for  roofs,  it  is  more  in  place ;  and,  where  so  used, 
the  most  economical  and  convenient  shape  that  can  be 
chosen  for  it  is  often  the  most  beautiful.  A  correspondence 
between  its  arching  forms  and  like  forms  in  the  stone-  or 
brick- work  underneath  it,  might  give  rise  to  a  style  equally 
novel  and  attractive. 

See  what  is  said  on  page  330  of  "  Painting,  Sculpture, 
and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,"  with  reference  to 
methods  of  letting  iron  be  seen  in  ceilings.  Besides  this, 
iron  can  span  immense  spaces,  and  this  fact  renders  the 


20  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

columns  characterizing  the  Gothic,  and  to  some  extent,  the 
Greek  structures  as  much  out  of  the  way  architecturally 
in  some  of  our  modern  buildings,  as,  with  our  modern  uses, 
they  are  in  the  way  optically.  Large  interiors,  however, 
containing  few  or  no  columns,  necessitate  very  artistic 
treatment  of  the  wall-spaces.  Otherwise,  everything 
seems  too  airy  and  cold.  Arrangements  of  mouldings  and 
spaces  can  do  something  toward  preventing  such  effects, 
but  careful  attention  to  the  requirements  of  decorative 
art  can  do  more.  Nor  in  such  cases  should  efforts  be  con- 
fined merely  to  painting.  Decorative  color,  to  be  perma- 
nent, should  be  resident  in  the  material  used;  and  here,  in 
treating  both  exterior  and  interior  walls,  architects  might 
avail  themselves  of  our  modern  facilities  for  transportation. 
Pictures  have  been  made  of  mosaics,  but  few  great  build- 
ings have  been  constructed  on  the  principle  of  using  differ- 
ently colored  bricks  and  stones  and  harmonizing  them 
according  to  the  principles  of  decorative  painting. 

Probably  an  architect  who  should  undertake  to  erect 
such  a  building  would  be  considered  audacious;  and,  unless 
the  materials  and  colors  were  judiciously  chosen — not 
too  brilliant  or  diversified — and  were  arranged  in  strict 
fulfilment  of  the  principle  that  like  classes  of  forms  should 
be  characterized  by  like  classes  of  substances  and  hues,  and 
were  grouped  in  masses  large  enough  to  give  dignity  to  the 
effect — probably  the  result  would  prove  this  opinion  to  be 
correct.  Yet  a  great  genius  might  produce  something 
with  a  beauty  as  unique  and  successful  as  was  the  earliest 
Gothic  church  in  its  day,  and  surpassing  the  beauty  of 
most  of  our  buildings  as  much  as  the  frescoed  interiors  of 
the  present  New  York  merchants*  houses  surpass  the  white- 
washed walls  of  their  Knickerbocker  ancestors.  Color  is 
certainly  an  element  of  beauty.  Why  should  it  not  be 
recognized  as  such  in  architecture?  Even  the  Greeks 
acknowledged  the  fact.  It  is  known  now  that  the  marble 
of  the  Parthenon,  unsurpassed  as  it  is  in  its  capabilities 
for  receiving  polish,  was  painted.  But  the  painting  has 
perished.  IJsed  on  exteriors,  it  always  does  perish.  Can 
no  imperishable  colors  be  used  thus?  They  can.  In  a  coun- 
try where  brick  and  stone  of  all  possible  compositions  and 
colors  can  be  collected  from  all  quarters  at  comparatively 
slight  expense,  one  can  imagine  churches,  halls,  streets, 
entire  cities,  wholly  different  in  hue  and  general  appearance 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  21 

from  any  that  have  ever  existed,  built  of  material  destined 
to  remain  unchanged  as  long  as  the  pyramids,  and,  for  a 
longer  time,  to  continue  to  be  models. — Proportion  and 
Harmony  oj  Line  and  Color,  xxv. 

ARCHITECTURE,  REPRESENTATIVE  {see  mention  cf  architec- 
ture under  representation  and  representative). 
In  the  age  in  which  the  Greek  temples  were  constructed, 
other  artists  believed — and  why  not  the  architect? — that 
a  man  should  study  upon  a  product,  if  he  intended  to  have 
it  remain  a  model  for  all  the  future.  Is  it  not  natural  to 
suppose  that  in  such  an  age  the  structural  arrangements 
intended  to  counteract  optical  defects,  or  to  produce  optical 
illusions,  or,  as  some  think,  to  produce,  in  connection  with 
these,  effects  of  variety  or  of  vagueness  in  Hne  or  outHne, 
were  largely  the  results  of  the  individual  experiments  of 
individual  builders?  If  not  such  results,  why  were  they 
invariably  different  in  different  buildings?  But  if  they 
were  such,  the  predominating  motive  in  the  mind  of  the 
artist  was  not  to  imitate  any  particular  form  that  he  had 
seen  before,  so  much  as  to  represent  its  general  effect. 
Thus,  from  the  beginning  of  architecture  in  which  we  see 
the  builder  taking  suggestions  from  primitive  huts  or  from 
the  trunks  and  branches  of  trees  in  nature,  to  the  highest 
stage  of  its  development,  where  we  see  him  taking  sugges- 
tions from  the  works  of  previous  architects,  we  find  him, 
in  the  degree  in  which  he  is  a  great  artist,  representing 
rather  than  imitating. — Essentials  of  ^Esthetics,  vi. 

ARCHITECTURE,  REPRESENTATIVE  OF  THOUGHT. 

A  building,  in  just  as  true  a  sense  as  a  poem,  a  symphony, 
a  picture,  or  a  statue,  is  the  embodied  expression  of  an 
idea.  In  architecture,  this  idea  is  a  plan.  It  is  sown,  so 
to  speak,  in  a  particular  locality;  and  there  straightway 
it  springs  into  walls,  branches  into  wings,  leaves  into  doors 
and  windows,  flowers  into  capstones  and  roofs,  and  some- 
times filaments  into  spires. — The  Representative  Significance 
of  Form,  xxiv. 

If  the  internal  arrangements  are  to  determine  the  external 
ones,  as  must  evidently  be  the  case  in  all  logical  construc- 
tion, then,  in  the  degree  in  which  this  principle  is  carried 
out  artistically,  i,  e.,  in  such  a  way  as  to  be  made  apparent 
in  the  form,  that  which  is  on  the  inside  must  be  represented 
on  the  outside.     In  other  words,  a  building  to  be  made 


22  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

expressive  of  the  thought,  which,  in  this  case,  would  mean 
the  design  of  the  artist,  must  have  an  external  appearance 
which  manifests  the  internal  plan. — Painting,  SculpturCj 
and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,  xviii. 

Walls  in  which  there  are  doors,  windows,  and  projections 
such  as  pilasters,  pillars,  buttresses,  or  string-courses, — 
and  the  same  is  true  of  foundations,  porches,  and  roofs, — 
awaken  as  much  more  interest  than  do  blank  walls,  as 
bodies  do  when  infused  with  a  soul  having  the  power  to 
express  thought  and  feeling  than  they  do  when  they  are 
merely  corpses.  Of  course,  too,  the  more  clearly  the  archi- 
tectural features  reveal  not  only  that  there  is  thought 
and  purpose  behind  them,  but  what  this  thought  and  pur- 
pose is,  the  more  successful  is  the  result. — Idem,  xviii. 

A  traveler,  judging  merely  from  appearances,  may  say 
with  reference  to  the  methods  of  construction,  that  some 
particular  pillar,  bracket,  Hntel,  arch,  was  shaped  and  placed 
as  it  is  in  order  to  furnish  just  the  support  needed  for  some 
particular  weight  or  arrangement  of  material  which  is  over 
it.  Or  he  may  say  that  some  particular  foundation  was 
laid  as  it  is  in  order  to  suit  some  particularly  rocky,  sandy, 
or  marshy  soil ;  or  that  some  particular  roof  was  pitched  as 
it  is  in  order  to  fit  a  dry  or  a  wet  climate,  to  shed  rain  or 
snow.  Or,  judging  from  arrangements  of  doors  or  windows, 
he  may  say,  with  reference  to  the  general  uses  of  a  building, 
that  some  particular  part  is  an  audience  hall,  a  chapel,  or  a 
picture  gallery.  Even  if  he  find  nothing  except  founda- 
tions, he  can  often  declare  this  to  be  a  theatre,  and  that  to 
be  a  temple,  or  a  bath,  or  a  private  house;  and  not  only  so, 
but  sometimes,  as  at  Pompeii,  he  can  tell  the  uses  of  each 
of  the  different  rooms  of  the  house. 

Observe  that,  in  all  these  ways,  it  is  possible  for  a  build- 
ing to  be  representative;  moreover,  that  just  in  the  degree 
in  which  it  is  so,  the  interest  awakened  by  it  is  enhanced. 
It  then  comes  to  have  the  same  effect  upon  us  that  would 
be  produced  did  its  builder  stand  by  us  and  tell  us  exactly 
what  his  thoughts  were  when  designing  the  arrangement 
that  we  see.  It  is  as  if  he  were  to  say:  **  I  had  a  conception 
that  it  would  be  a  good  idea  in  this  position  to  have  an 
arch  projected  so,  or  a  ceiling  supported  by  a  bracket  in- 
serted so;  or  a  foundation  in  soil  like  this  laid  so;  or  a  roof 
in  a  climate  like  this  shaped  so;  or  a  chapel  for  a  sect  like 
this  planned  so;  or  an  audience  hall  for  an  assembly  like 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  23 

this  arranged  so. "  And  the  more  one  knows  of  architecture, 
the  more  innumerable  will  he  recognize  to  be  the  thoughts, 
and,  in  the  degree  in  which  ornamentation  is  increased, 
the  aesthetic  feelings  that  it  is  possible  for  the  architect  to 
represent  through  these  apparently  lifeless  forms  of  wood 
or  brick  or  stone. — Idem,  xvii. 

ARCHITECTURE,  ROMAN  VS.  GREEK  {see  under  comparison). 

One  or  two  other  statements  of  Vitruvius  may  be  of 
interest.  But  while  reading  them  it  is  important  to  bear 
in  mind  that  their  significance  lies  not  in  the  figures  given 
but  in  the  general  principle  which  they  exemplify.  The 
figures  are  Roman,  the  principle  is  Greek.  Greek  architec- 
ture was  original,  and  apparently,  for  reasons  already 
indicated,  what  might  be  termed  independent  and  indi- 
vidual. Roman  architecture  was  imitative,  and,  as  these 
quotations  from  Vitruvius  show,  traditional  and  mechanical. 
The  principles  that  the  Greeks  sought  to  carry  out  in  a 
spirit  of  freedom,  the  Romans  sought  to  carry  out  in  servil- 
ity to  the  letter;  and  it  is  as  true  in  art  as  in  religion  that 
"the  letter  killeth." — Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and 
Color,  XV. 

ARCHITECTURE  VS.  PAINTING  AND  SCULPTURE. 

The  painter  and  the  sculptor  observe  nature  for  the  pur- 
pose of  reproducing  its  forms;  the  architect,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  producing  a  new  and  different  form,  for  which,  as  a 
whole,  nature  furnishes  no  copy.  In  his  work  the  contrast 
between  the  product  and  nature  is  often  so  complete  that 
the  one  no  longer,  as  in  the  case  of  painting,  necessarily 
suggests  the  other.  Although  the  shapes  of  the  founda- 
tions, pillars,  capitals,  arches,  roofs,  chimneys,  or  towers 
of  a  building  may  suggest  reminiscences  of  nature,  they 
are  constructed  almost  invariably  as  if  the  architect  had 
forgotten  what  was  the  particular  appearance  of  anything 
that  had  inspired  his  forms.  He  is  influenced  somewhat 
by  nature,  but  much  more  by  his  own  mind,  which  works 
with  the  least  possible  artistic  regard  for  nature's  disposi- 
tions of  the  forms  that  he  uses.  If  these  forms  be  beauti- 
ful, it  is  less  because  they  are  the  same  in  detail  as  those 
found  in  nature,  than  because  they  are  the  same  in  principle, 
because  they  are  controlled  by  the  same  general  laws  that 
underlie  all  appearances  and  combinations  of  them  that 
are  naturally  pleasing. — Art  in  Theory,  xix. 


24  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

ARCHITECTURE,    WHY    STYLES    SHOULD    NOT    BE   MIXED. 

The  world  may  improve  in  art  as  in  other  things.  Yet, 
as  every  thinker  knows,  all  improvements  are  in  the  nature 
of  developments  that  are  made  in  strict  accordance  with 
fixed  laws.  We  have  found  that  scientific  classification, 
as  well  as  artistic  construction,  demands  that  like  be  put 
with  like.  This  demand  is  beyond  the  reach  of  any  human 
power  that  may  seek  to  change  it.  It  exists  in  the  consti- 
tution of  the  mind.  No  architect  can  disregard  it,  and 
produce  a  building  satisfactory  to  men  in  general.  No 
building  has  ever  obtained  and  preserved  a  reputation  as  a 
work  of  art,  in  which  this  requirement  has  been  neglected. 
.  .  .  The  true  reason,  therefore,  for  not  introducing  the 
forms  of  Greek,  Romanesque,  and  Gothic  architecture  into 
the  same  building,  is  that,  as  a  rule,  such  a  course  is  fatal 
to  unity  of  effect.  These  principal  styles  and  some  of  the 
subordinate  styles  developed  from  them  differ  so  essentially 
that  to  blend  them  is  to  cause  confusion  in  the  form  where 
the  mind  demands  intelligibiHty,  which,  so  far  as  our  present 
line  of  thought  is  applicable,  means  something  in  which 
many  repetitions  of  similar  appearances  reveal  that  all  are 
parts  of  the  same  whole.  Buildings  in  which  there  are 
very  few,  if  any,  forms  alike,  are  not,  whatever  else  they 
may  be,  works  of  art. — The  Genesis  of  Art- Form,  xii. 

So  far  as  the  appearance  of  forms  alone  is  concerned,  there 
is  no  reason  why  certain  features  of  the  Greek  style  should 
not  accompany  certain  of  the  Gothic.  To  use  them  to- 
gether would  not  violate  in  the  least  the  fundamental  prin- 
ciple of  art,  that  like  forms  should  be  put  together.  At 
the  same  time,  to  do  so  would  cause  art  to  associate  features 
that  have  come  to  be  clearly  dissociated  in  the  mind.  For 
this  reason,  it  is  possible  that,  as  long  as  the  world  lasts, 
no  artist  can  mix  them  extensively  without  suggesting  to 
some  an  amount  of  incongruity  wholly  inconsistent  with 
those  effects  of  unity  invariably  present  in  arts  of  the  highest 
character. — Idem,  ix. 

Under  all  the  arts  are  certain  principles  that  successful 
products  need  to  exemplify.  As  applied  to  building,  for 
instance,  it  is  not  because  the  Gothic  artist  did  not  mix 
horizontal  with  arched  coverings  for  windows  that  it  should 
not  be  done  to-day.  Our  artists  should  be  actuated  by  a 
higher  motive  than  imitation.     What  they  should  avoid 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  25 

is  a  violation  of  the  principle  exemplified  by  the  Gothic 
builders,  which  principle  is  to  put,  wherever  it  is  possible, 
like  with  like.  It  was  pointed  out  in  Chapter  XVII  of 
**The  Genesis  of  Art-Form"  that  in  strict  accordance 
with  this  principle,  as  it  is  applied  in  all  the  other  arts, 
there  might  be  a  legitimate  style  in  which,  from  the  lower 
storey  up,  the  acuteness  of  the  arches  in  each  storey  would 
be  gradually  increased;  also,  that  in  these  days  of  easy 
and  extensive  methods  of  transportation,  there  might  be 
a  legitimate  style,  in  which,  through  the  use  of  stones  or 
of  other  materials  of  different  hues,  the  effects  of  con- 
trast in  coloring  could  be  produced,  even  on  exteriors. — 
Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts, 

XXI. 

The  use  of  color  enters  largely  into  effects  in  painting, 
and  much  imitation  of  natural  forms  characterizes  both 
painting  and  sculpture.  Neither  fact  is  true  of  architec- 
ture. Its  effects  are  often  confined  to  those  of  forms  alone. 
This  makes  these  of  supreme  importance.  Its  forms, 
moreover,  are  originated  by  the  artist.  This  makes  it 
easy  to  have  them  such  as  interfere  with  what  may  be  called 
the  natural  requirements  of  art.  For  both  reasons,  the 
architect  needs  to  be  exceedingly  careful  in  his  work.  A 
painter  has  but  to  copy  a  tree  as  he  sees  it  in  nature,  and 
every  part  of  it  will  be  consonant.  The  leaves  or  branches 
will  differ  in  size  and  shape  and,  in  the  autumn,  at  least, 
differ  sufficiently  in  color  to  suggest  differences  in  combina- 
tion and  material.  But,  comparing  leaf  with  leaf  and 
branch  with  branch,  the  same  principle  of  formation  will 
so  manifest  itself  in  every  part  of  the  tree  that  no  one  who 
sees  it  can  doubt  that  each  belongs  to  the  same  organism.  A 
building  should  appear  to  be  as  much  a  unity  in  this  sense 
as  a  tree.  Exact  repetition  of  the  same  forms,  as  already 
explained,  would  always  make  it  seem  thus.  But,  in  archi- 
tecture, exact  repetition  is  not  always  possible ;  nor  even,  if 
we  wish  to  produce  thoroughly  natural  effects,  desirable. 
The  method  that  is  both  possible  and  desirable  is  consonance. 
A  moment's  reflection  will  reveal,  too,  that  there  are  certain 
very  simple  devices  of  arrangement  which  necessarily  secure 
this  effect.  It  ought  to  reveal,  also,  that  the  effect  is  im- 
portant enough  to  make  even  a  child  notice  the  defects  in 
cases  in  which  it  is  neglected. — The  Genesis  of  Art-Form^ 

XV. 


26  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

ART. 
Nature  made  human,  or  nature  re-made  by  the  human 
mind,  is,  of  course,  a  very  broad  definition  of  art — one  that 
scarcely  begins  to  suggest  all  that  is  needed  for  a  full  under- 
standing of  the  subject.  But  it  is  one  that  all  can  accept, 
and  therefore  it  will  serve  as  a  starting-point  for  what  is 
to  follow. — Art  in  Theory,  i. 

ART,  ESTHETIC  {see  also  ESTHETICS,  MEANING  OF). 

^Esthetic  Art  is  the  use  of  natural  forms  that  seem  beau- 
tiful for  the  expression  of  human  thoughts  and  emotions ;  or, 
as  we  may  say,  it  is  natural  beauty  adapted  to  the  formu- 
lation of  human  sentiment. — Notes  Taken  in  a  Lecture. 

-Esthetic  art,  when  possessed  of  the  finest  and  highest 
quaUties,  from  its  first  conception  in  the  mind  to  its  last 
constructive  touch  in  the  product,  is  a  result  of  a  man's 
imagination  giving  audible  or  visible  embodiment  to  his 
thoughts  or  emotions  by  representing  them  in  a  form  trace- 
able to  material  or  human  nature,  which  form  attracts  him 
on  account  of  its  beauty,  and  is  selected  and  elaborated 
by  him  into  an  artistic  product  in  accordance  with  the 
imaginative  exercise  of  comparison  or  of  association,  modi- 
fied, when  necessary,  so  as  to  meet  the  requirements  of 
factors  which  can  be  compared  or  associated  in  only  a  partial 
degree. — The  Essentials  of  ^Esthetics,  xviii. 

ART  AND  BEAUTY  {see  also  NATURE,  TRUTH  TO). 

Of  course  the  word  art  may  be  broadly  ascribed  to  any- 
thing that  is  made,  especially  by  way  of  imitation;  and, 
therefore,  the  term  artistic  may  properly  designate  any 
product  of  this  kind.  But  the  word  has  also  a  more  limited 
meaning, — the  meaning  that  we  all  recognize  when  found 
in  the  terms  the  fine  arts,  or  les  beaux  arts.  When  this  is 
its  meaning,  the  objects  that  art  imitates  must  be,  pre- 
dominatly  at  least,  beautiful,  and  the  product  itself  must 
introduce  ugliness,  or  its  concomitant,  impurity,  only 
subordinately ; — by  way,  so  to  speak,  of  contrast,  by  way 
of  shading  that  offsets  brightness.  A  good  deal  that  is 
true  to  life  is  not  true  to  the  beautiful  in  Hfe;  and,  therefore, 
contrary  to  the  opinion  of  these  writers,  is  philosophically 
out  of  place  in  the  highest  art.  Of  course,  this  principle, 
if  applied,  would  rule  out  of  the  highest  rank  a  number  of 
our  modern  plays — some  of  those  by  Ibsen,  Sudermann, 
Hauptmann,  and  d'Annunzio.  If  so,  they  ought  to  be 
ruled  out.    The  principle  is  one  that  no  one  who  thinks 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  27 

correctly  can  fail  to  accept ;  and,  as  proved  by  the  survival 
of  interest  in  Greek  art,  it  is  the  only  principle  that  all 
people,  at  all  times,  can  be  expected  to  accept. — Essay  on 
Art  and  Morals^ 

In  the  preceding  chapter  an  endeavor  was  made  to  show 
that  art  of  the  highest  or  finest  quality  involves  three 
things:  first,  a  reproduction  of  the  phenomena  of  nature, 
especially  of  its  sights  and  sounds ;  second,  an  expression  of 
the  thoughts  and  emotions  of  the  artist;  and,  third,  an 
embodiment  of  both  these  other  features  in  an  external 
product  Uke  a  symphony,  a  poem,  a  painting,  a  statue,  a 
building.  The  question  now  arises  whether  we  should  not 
make  further  Hmitations  with  reference  to  the  sights  or 
sounds  of  nature  with  which  the  highest  art  has  to  deal. 
.  .  .  The  question  .  .  .  suggests  that  when  a  man  not  for 
a  useful  but,  .  .  .  for  an  aesthetic  end,  reproduces  these, 
he  must  do  so  mainly  because  something  about  them  has 
instructed,  attracted,  and,  as  we  say,  charmed  him.  There 
is  one  word  which  we  are  accustomed  to  apply  to  any  form, 
whether  of  sight  or  of  sound  that  attracts  and  charms  us. 
It  is  the  word  beautiful.  ...  It  seems  to  be  conceded  that 
arts  of  the  highest  class  should  reproduce  mainly,  at  least, 
and  some  seem  to  think  solely,  such  phenomena  of  nature 
as  are  beautiful. — Essentials  of  Esthetics,  11. 

It  is  only  when  an  effect,  whether  appealing  to  the  ear 
or  eye,  exerts  a  subtle  charm  upon  the  mind  and  spirit  that 
it  influences  a  man  sufficiently  to  cause  him  to  desire  to 
reproduce  it.  But  what  is  it  that  exerts  this  subtle  charm 
upon  the  mind  and  spirit  ?  It  must  be  something,  of  course, 
connected  with  the  appearance  or  form;  for  it  is  this,  pre- 
sumably, which  is  imitated.  But  charm  exerted  by  appear- 
ance or  form  is  due,  as  a  rule,  to  that  which  men  ordinarily 
associate  with  the  term  Z>eaw/3'.  .  .  .  "The  beautiful  arts," 
"the  fine  arts,"  'Hhe  arts,"  as  we  term  them,  are  those  in 
which  a  man  gives  expression  to  the  excess  within  him  of 
mental  and  spiritual,  or,  as  we  may  say,  intellectual  and 
emotional  vitality  through  a  representation  of  effects 
exerting  that  subtle  charm  which,  as  a  rule,  is  traceable 
only  to  appearances  having  what  is  called  beauty. — Art  in 
Theory y  viii. 

Facts  do  not  confirm  any  theory  to  the  effect  that  all 
the  features  chosen  for  art  should  be  beautiful.  The  most 
that  can  be  said  is  that  in  the  main  they  should  be  so; 


28  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

and  that  those  which  are  not  so  should  be  introduced  only 
in  order,  by  way  of  contrast,  to  enhance  the  beauty  of 
others  with  which  they  are  combined. — Idem,  x. 

Art,  as  a  product  of  the  imagination,  always  involves 
more  or  less  use  of  imagery,  as  in  the  imitations  of  painting 
and  sculpture,  and  the  figures  of  speech  in  poetry,  to  say 
nothing  of  more  subtle  representings  in  music  and  architec- 
ture. This  fact  renders  it  possible  often  for  the  artist  to 
introduce  beauty  into  his  treatment  of  subjects  which,  in 
themselves,  are  not  beautiful.  We  see  this  illustrated  often 
in  the  colors  or  carvings  of  pictures,  statues,  or  buildings, 
and  in  the  similes  and  metaphors  of  poems.  Notice  the 
following  reference  to  hostile  footsteps  heard  through  the 
darkness  of  a  midnight  tempest  in  a  jungle : 

There  seems  human  rhythm  in  this  hell. 
What  hot  pursuit  is  it  comes  burning  through 
These  crackling  branches? — The  Aztec  God. 

And  this  description  of  the  approach  of  a  threatening 
storm : 

It  came  like  a  boy  who  whistles  first 
To  warn  of  his  form  that  shall  on  us  burst, 
As  if  nature  feared  to  jar  the  heart 
By  joys  too  suddenly  made  to  start. 

-The  Last  Home  Gathering. 

— Notes  Taken  in  a  Lecture, 

Everybody  admits  that  art  is  an  embodiment  of  the 
ideal.  Whoever  heard  of  an  ideal  that  was  not  characterized 
by  beauty?  Everybody  admits,  too,  that  art  is  of  benefit 
to  individuals  or  communities  in  the  degree  in  which  it 
cultivates  in  them  ideaHty.  How  could  it  cultivate  this, 
where  it  presented  no  ideal  because  no  beauty?  Of  what 
use  to  humanity  could  art  be,  where  all  that  could  cause 
it  to  be  of  any  use  whatever  was  left  out  of  it? — Idem, 

ART  AS  MENTAL  AND  SPIRITUAL. 

Art  is  a  form  produced  by  a  man,  and  a  man  is  not  yet 
a  spirit.  He  may  have  spiritual  instincts  tending,  in  a 
vague  way,  toward  a  recognition  and  production  of  the 
beautiful;  but,  as  a  man,  with  a  human  mind  working  in  a 
consciously  rational  way,  he  knows  nothing  about  form 
except  as  he  may  perceive  it  in  the  external  world,  of  the 
appearances  of  which  alone  he  is  conscious.  Nor  can  he 
produce  form,  except  so  far  as  he  recombines  those  factors 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  29 

of  it  which  have  already  been  created  for  him  in  this  exter- 
nal world.  One  hears  a  man  talk  to  himself,  and  he  imi- 
tates the  general  form  of  the  talk  in  a  lyric.  He  hears 
men  talk  together,  and  he  imitates  the  general  effect  in  a 
drama.  He  hears  them  hum,  and  he  imitates  the  general 
effect  in  a  melody.  He  looks  at  scenery  and  a  human 
figure,  and  he  imitates  the  general  effect  in  a  painting  or  a 
statue.  He  notices  the  methods  in  nature  of  protection, 
support,  and  shelter,  and  he  imitates  the  general  effect  in 
a  building.  So  far  as  a  man  is  an  artist,  i.  6.,  a  being  who 
works  by  intellection  as  well  as  by  inspiration,  it  is  always 
nature  that  furnishes  his  model.  Especially  is  this  true 
of  that  which,  in  art,  is  beautiful.  There  is  no  beauty 
without  form.  There  is  no  form  except  in  visible  or  audible 
nature.  There  is  no  beauty  of  form  that  is  not  suggested 
in  connection  with  an  observation  of  nature.  This  applies 
not  only  to  the  general  outlines  of  art-form,  but  to  the  de- 
tails of  its  elaboration — to  rhythm,  proportion,  tone,  color, 
and  the  harmony  of  tone  and  color.  All  these,  in  their 
perfected  phases,  are  developments  of  certain  great  laws 
of  appearance  which  have  to  do  with  the  pleasurable  or 
disagreeable  effects  produced  upon  the  nervous  organiza- 
tion of  the  eye  or  ear,  or,  through  suggestion,  of  the  mind 
itself.  There  are  many  physical  and  psychical  elements 
which,  in  certain  circumstances,  enter  into  the  requirements 
of  beauty;  but  of  all  these  a  man  knows  with  certainty  only 
so  far  as  he  may  study  their  effects  in  material  nature. 
What  then? — Is  beauty  merely  an  attribute  of  matter? — 
a  superficial  quality?  Is  Plato  wholly  wrong?  Has  the 
idea,  the  spiritual  force  which  he  supposes  to  be  the  cause 
of  the  expression,  no  influence?  Just  the  contrary  may  be 
true.  But  so  far  as  the  idea  appeals  to  the  mind,  it  can 
become  an  object  of  conscious  thought  only  when  embodied 
in  material  nature  .  .  .  and  any  one  who  has  faith  in  the 
Creative  Spirit  has  faith  to  believe  that  the  arrangements 
of  nature  are  such  that  a  thoughtful  mind  will  not  fail  to 
find  illustrated  in  them  exactly  those  principles  and  laws 
which  are  suited  for  one's  highest  mental  and  spiritual 
requirements.  Art  in  reproducing  the  appearances  and 
methods  of  nature  continues  and  develops  their  mental 
and  spiritual  effects.  In  the  lyric,  the  play,  the  novel,  the 
picture,  the  statue, — and  always  in  the  degree  in  which 
the  imitation  of  nature  is  exact, — art  widens  the  experience 


30  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

of  men  with  the  same  influence  upon  the  mind  that  would 
be  produced  by  actual  experience,  making  them  wiser,  more 
sympathetic,  more  charitable;  in  short,  more  humane.  .  .  . 
Art  is  the  expression  of  human  thought  and  feeling  in 
the  terms  of  nature.  This  expression  is  never  merely  com- 
municative, nor  merely  imitative.  It  is  always  both.  It 
is  representative.  Art  embodies  truth,  not  dogmatically 
but  imaginatively,  and  its  influence  is  exerted  not  by  way 
of  dictation,  but  of  suggestion.  Therefore,  art  does  not, 
cannot,  and  should  not  take  the  place — as  Plato  seems  to 
suppose  that  it  may — of  either  philosophy,  ethics,  or  the- 
ology. All  these  together  cannot  produce  upon  conception 
or  emotion  the  cultural  effects  of  aesthetics.  It  is  well, 
therefore,  to  let  the  latter  do  its  own  work,  as  also  to  ac- 
knowledge the  value  of  this  work  when  it  is  done  well. — An 
in  Theory,  Appendix  ii. 

ART,   BREADTH  OF  ITS  RESOURCES. 

Indeed,  the  resources  that  may  be  utilized  in  art  are  prac- 
tically infinite.  No  man  can  observe  so  much  as  to  see 
any  facts  outside  the  limits  of  its  sphere.  No  man  can 
reflect  so  much  as  to  arrive  at  any  conclusions  beyond  its 
powers  of  expression.  No  man  can  be  so  much  as  not  to 
have  mind  and  spirit  lifted  to  greater  heights  through  its 
inspiration. — The  Representative  Significance  of  Form,  xiii. 

ART,    EXPRESSING  THOUGHT    THROUGH    IMITATION. 

Are  there  any  products  which,  however  materially  useful 
they  may  subsequently  prove  to  be,  are,  at  any  rate,  not 
planned,  primarily,  for  the  purpose  of  being  useful?  Of 
course,  there  is  but  one  answer  to  this  question.  Such 
products  are  plentiful.  Moreover,  it  is  one  invariable 
characteristic  of  all  of  them  that  in  certain  features,  to  a 
certain  extent,  their  appearances  are  left  in  the  condition 
in  which  they  are  found  in  nature.  This  is  the  case  even 
with  factors  of  a  musical  melody.  The  composer  accepts 
the  different  elements  of  movement  and  pitch  as  they  come 
to  him,  rendering  them  more  useful  not  even  by  adding  to 
them  articulation.  Much  more  is  the  same  fact  evident 
in  poetry,  the  imitative,  figurative,  or  descriptive  language 
of  which  is  recognized  to  be  successful  according  to  the 
degree  of  fidelity  with  which  it  recalls  the  sights  of  nature. 
So  too  with  the  products  of  painting,  sculpture,  and  of  the 
ornamental  parts,  at  least,  of  architecture.     Were  forms 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  31 

in  these  arts — and  in  principle  the  statement  is  applicable 
to  the  arts  of  sound  also — shaped  or  combined,  as  are  most 
implements  and  machines,  into  appearances  wholly  unnatu- 
ral, they  would  necessarily  suggest  a  material  end  intended  to 
be  accomplished  by  them.  But  this  they  do  not  suggest, 
for  the  very  reason  that  their  appearances  are  not  changed 
from  those  that  are  presented  in  nature.  Here  then  we 
come  upon  a  clear  point  of  agreement  between  the  arts  that 
are  the  most  finely  and  distinctively  forms  of  nature,  and 
those  that  are  the  most  finely  and  distinctively  human. 
There  is  an  indissoluble  connection  between  employing  in  a 
product  the  appearances  of  nature  and  having  it  in  a  con- 
dition in  which  it  will  pre-eminently  direct  attention  to  the 
fact  that  it  is  used  for  the  sole  purpose  of  giving  expression 
to  thought  or  feeling.  An  artificially  shaped  machine  or 
implement  at  once  suggests  the  question,  "What  can  it  do?  " 
But  a  drawing  or  carving  never  suggests  this  question,  but 
rather,  "What  did  the  man  who  made  this  think  about  it, 
or  of  it,  that  he  should  have  reproduced  it?" — Art  in 
Theory,  vi. 

ART  FOR  art's  SAKE. 

Whenever  one  uses  a  form  either  of  sound  or  of  sight  in 
order  through  it  to  express  thought  or  feeling,  a  natural  ten- 
dency of  mind  causes  him  after  a  little  to  become  interested 
in  the  form  and  to  develop  its  possibilities  for  its  own  sake. 
It  is  this  tendency  that  leads  to  all  art ;  and  the  fact  furnishes 
a  degree  of  justification,  though  not  to  the  extent  that  is 
sometimes  urged,  for  the  maxim  that  enjoins  interest  in 
"art  for  art's  sake,"  even  if  by  art,  in  this  sense,  be  meant 
that  merely  which  has  to  do  with  the  representation  of 
form.  The  truth  of  this  statement  is  especially  easy  to 
recognize  as  applied  to  painting  and  sculpture,  partly  be- 
cause in  them  it  is  so  evidently  essential  to  have  the  forms 
exactly  imitative  of  those  of  nature,  and  partly  because, 
before  the  imitation  necessitated  can  be  successful,  it  so 
evidently  requires  careful  and  scientific  study.  These 
considerations  do  not  justify  a  lack  of  interest  in  the  sig- 
nificance which  a  form  may  be  made  to  express;  but  they 
do  necessitate,  on  the  part  of  all  who  wish  to  understand 
the  subject,  some  knowledge,  if  not  of  a  painter's  tech- 
nique, at  least  of  his  technical  aims.  Only  in  the  degree 
in  which  men  have  this  knowledge,  can  they  estimate  a 
painting  from  an  artist's  point  of  view,  or  have  a  right  to 


32  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

an  opinion  concerning  its  workmanship. — Painting,  Sculp- 
ture, and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,  xvi. 

"art  in  theory,"  analysis  of  the  book. 
(Recapitulation.)  In  the  introductory  volume,  "Art  in 
Theory,"  an  attempt  was  made  to  derive  a  true  conception  of 
the  requirements  of  art  from  a  study  of  certain  facts  and 
opinions  concerning  it  acknowledged  by  all,  or  held  by 
writers  of  authority.  Guided  by  these  criteria,  nature 
was  first  distinguished  from  art,  and  then  the  lower  arts 
from  the  higher.  It  was  found  that  an  essential  char- 
acteristic of  these  latter  is  what  is  known  as  form,  but  in 
their  cases  a  form  producing  always  two  apparently  dif- 
ferent effects,  one  derived  from  an  imitation  of  external 
phenomena,  and  the  other  from  a  communication  of 
thoughts  and  emotions.  The  first  effect,  tending  to  em- 
phasize the  form  in  itself,  was  said  to  be  mainly,  though 
by  no  means  exclusively,  characteristic  of  classic  art,  and 
the  second  effect,  tending  to  emphasize  the  significance 
in  the  form,  was  said  to  be  mainly  characteristic  of  romantic 
art.  It  was  also  argued  that  the  emphasizing  of  either 
of  these  tendencies,  if  carried  so  far  as  to  involve  a  neglect 
of  the  other  of  them,  is  fatal  to  artistic  excellence.  In 
indicating,  then,  the  conception  of  artistic  aims  best  tend- 
ing to  preserve  the  equilibrium  between  the  two  tendencies, 
it  was  pointed  out  that  art  neither  imitates  nor  communi- 
cates in  the  most  practically  effective  ways.  Because  aim- 
ing to  do  both,  its  chief  aim  cannot  be  to  do  either  the 
one  or  the  other.  Art  represents  natural  phenomena, 
as  one  may  say,  as  a  means  of  representing  thoughts  and 
emotions.  Or,  to  express  this  differently,  art  emphasizes 
representation,  developing  and  elaborating  the  factors  of 
it  in  nature,  and  the  possibilities  of  it  in  the  mind.  But 
in  doing  this,  art  is  using  the  same  means  and  continuing 
the  same  modes  of  expression  as  those  that  are  attributed 
by  men  to  the  creative  and  divine  intelligence.  The 
impulse  to  art,  therefore,  may  be  considered  creative 
and  divine.  But  as  it  neither  imitates  nor  communicates 
in  the  most  usefully  effective  way,  we  must  trace  it  less  to 
the  useful  than  to  the  non-useful  and  so  to  what  in  ele- 
mentary phases  is  called  the  play-impulse.  This  play- 
impulse,  even  in  dogs  and  kittens,  to  say  nothing  of  apes, 
tends  to  the  imitation  of  that  which  seems  interesting, 


A  Maori  Festival,  New  Zealand 
See  pages  p,  lo,  ii,  7J,  Si -83,  88,  89,  91,  147, 148, 162,  227, 38s 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  33 

attractive,  and  charming  in  one's  surroundings.  The  same 
impulse,  when  turned  in  the  direction  of  art,  inasmuch  as 
this  always  involves  the  use  of  form,  tends  also  to  imitation. 
But  an  imitation  of  that  which  is  interesting,  attractive, 
and  charming  in  form,  especially  in  form  communicating 
to  mind  and  spirit  the  suggestions  of  a  creative  and 
divine  impulse,  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  reproduction 
of  what  men,  when  using  the  term  in  its  highest  sense,  mean 
by  beauty.  What  is  there  in  beauty,  however,  that  it 
should  be  used  by  the  art-impulse  when  giving  expression  to 
the  mental  and  spiritual?  A  review,  which  follows,  of  the 
history  of  opinion  on  the  subject,  reveals  that  the  effects  of 
beauty  are  well-nigh  universally  attributed — not  always 
explicitly  but  certainly  implicitly — in  part  to  form,  but  in 
part  also  to  significance  suggested  by  the  form.  In  other 
words,  the  charm  exerted  by  beauty  is  exerted  partly  upon 
the  senses,  because  the  elements  of  the  form  harmonize 
with  one  another  and  with  the  physiological  requirements 
of  the  ear  or  eye,  and  partly  upon  the  mind,  because  the 
suggestions  of  these  elements  harmonize  with  psychological 
requirements.  The  consequent  definition  reached  is,  that 
"Beauty  is  a  characteristic  of  any  complex  form  of  varied 
elements,  producing  apprehensible  unity  {i.  e.,  harmony  or 
likeness)  of  effects  (i)  upon  the  motive  organs  of  sensation 
in  the  ear  or  eye,  or  (2)  upon  the  emotive  sources  of  imagina- 
tion in  the  mind,  or  (3)  upon  both  the  one  and  the  other." 
There  are  the  best  of  reasons,  therefore,  why  a  creative  and 
divine  impulse  tending  to  imitation  should  reproduce  beauty, 
the  mere  existence  of  which  alone  may  involve  that  appeal 
to  the  mental  and  spiritual  nature  which  is  made  by  what 
we  term  significance.  But  we  must  not  forget  that  in 
art  the  mind  may  do  more  than  represent  significance  as 
a  secondary  consideration,  which  would  be  the  case  did  it 
do  so  merely  because,  by  way  of  accident,  as  it  were,  a  cer- 
tain significance  was  necessarily  suggested  by  the  form 
used.  The  mind  often  represents  thoughts  and  emotions 
as  a  primary  consideration, — that  is,  it  decides  upon  them 
first,  and,  afterwards,  selects  the  forms  through  which  to 
communicate  them.  We  are  obliged,  therefore,  to  know 
something  about  the  ways  in  which  the  mind  communi- 
cates or  represents  thoughts  or  emotions  through  any 
forms  whatever,  irrespective  of  their  being  characterized 
by  beauty.     The  remainder  of  the  book  shows  how,  at 


34  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

different  stages  of  the  influence  exerted  by  precisely  the 
same  external  phenomena,  entirely  different  phases  of 
conscious  thoughts  and  emotions  are  aroused  to  activity. 
This  activity  is  analyzed  into  that  which  primarily  is 
instinctive  or  spontaneous,  is  reflective  or  responsive,  or 
is  a  blending  of  both  the  others  in  what  may  be  termed 
the  instinctively  reflective  or  the  emotive.  It  is  shown  that 
for  every  phase  of  activity  there  is  only  one  natural  form 
of  expression;  and  that  it  is  this  form  and  no  other  which, 
when  artistically  developed,  i.  e.,  developed  with  reference 
to  beauty,  finds  appropriate  embodiment  in  one  of  the 
five  arts  of  Music,  Poetry,  Painting,  Sculpture,  or  Archi- 
tecture.— Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color,  xxvi. 

ART,  ITS  GENERAL  EFFECTIVENESS. 

Other  products  of  men,  products  that  are  not  distinc- 
tively works  of  arts,  sometimes  have  marvellous  effects. 
A  machine,  a  galvanic  battery,  can  electrify  a  body  just 
bereft  of  life  into  movements  for  a  moment  almost  deceiv- 
ing the  senses  into  surmising  life's  return.  But  what  are 
such  effects  to  those  of  art?  men  ask.  What  else  but  it 
can  put  such  spirit  into  matter  which  never  yet  had  life  that 
the  vitality  can  remain  forever? — More  than  this,  what 
else  can  reach  outside  the  forms  in  which  it  is  embodied, 
and  electrify  all  beings  that  have  souls?  And  when  one 
yields  to  arts  of  this  kind,  the  highest  homage  that  can  be 
bestowed  upon  the  products  of  intelligence  and  skill,  to 
himself,  at  least,  he  seems  to  do  so,  recognizing  not  alone 
that  the  finest  and  most  distinctive  qualities  of  mind  have 
been  expended  on  them;  not  alone  that  they  have  issued 
from  an  intellect  exerting  all  its  power,  throned  in  the  regal 
right  of  all  its  functions ;  not  alone  that  they  have  involved 
activities  of  mind  at  the  sources  of  the  useful  and  of  the 
ornamental  arts  combined.  But  he  does  so,  because  he 
feels  that  such  activities,  when  exercised  conjointly,  adjust- 
ing thought  to  form  and  form  to  thought,  necessitate,  even 
aside  from  any  other  consideration,  a  quality  of  action  that 
is  not  the  same  as  that  manifested  by  either  of  these 
activities,  when  not  combined.  Gunpowder  and  a  match 
give  neither  of  the  two,  nor  both.  No  wonder  then  that 
mental  possibilities,  united  as  in  art,  suggest  a  force  and 
brilliancy  different  in  kind  from  that  exhibited  in  any  other 
sphere.     "I  tell  you,"  said  King  Henry  VIII.  to  a  noble- 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  35 

man  who  had  brought  him  an  accusation  against  the  painter 
Holbein,  "I  tell  you,  of  seven  peasants  I  can  make  as  many- 
lords,  but  of  seven  lords  I  could  not  make  one  Holbein." — 
Art  in  Theory ^  vii. 

ART,  ITS  HUMANIZING  EFFECTS  {see  Under  culture). 
What  a  rebuke  to  the  bigotry  and  the  cruelty  of  the 
Middle  Ages  are  the  countless  products  of  the  arts  of  those 
periods,  pleading  constantly  to  the  eye  against  the  savage 
customs  of  the  times  for  the  sweet  but  little-practised 
virtues  of  justice  and  charity!  Within  our  own  century, 
too,  notwithstanding  the  traditions  of  society,  the  state,  and 
the  church,  which  have  often  exerted  all  their  powers  to  up- 
hold and  perpetuate  slavery,  aristocracy,  and  sectarianism, 
recall  how  the  modern  novel  chiefly,  but  assisted  largely 
by  the  modern  picture,  has  not  only  changed  the  whole 
trend  of  the  world's  thought  with  reference  to  these  systems, 
but  has  contributed,  more,  perhaps,  than  any  other  single 
cause,  to  the  practical  reorganization  of  them,  in  accordance 
with  the  dictates  of  enlightened  intelligence. — The  Repre- 
sentative Significance  of  Form,  xi. 

ART,    THE    CONNECTING    LINK    BETWEEN    SCIENCE    AND 

RELIGION  (see  ANALOGY  IN  ART,  also  under  culture). 

The  moment  that  thought  transcends  the  sphere  possible 
to  knowledge,  it  gets  out  of  the  sphere  of  science.  But, 
when  it  gets  out  of  this,  what  sphere,  so  long  as  it  continues 
to  advance  rationally,  does  it  enter?  What  sphere  but  that 
of  religion?  And  think  how  large  a  part  of  human  experi- 
ence— experience  which  is  not  a  result  of  what  can  strictly 
be  termed  knowledge — is  contained  in  this  sphere !  Where 
but  in  it  can  we  find  the  impulses  of  conscience,  the  dic- 
tates of  duty,  the  cravings  for  sympathy,  the  aspira- 
tions for  excellence,  the  pursuit  of  ideals,  the  sense  of 
unworthiness,  the  desire  for  holiness,  the  feehng  of  depend- 
ence upon  a  higher  power,  and  all  these  together,  exer- 
cised in  that  which  causes  men  to  walk  by  faith,  and  not  by 
knowledge?  The  sphere  certainly  exists.  Granting  the 
fact,  let  us  ask  what  it  is  that  can  connect  with  this 
sphere  of  faith  the  sphere  of  knowledge?  Has  any  method 
yet  been  found  of  conducting  thought  from  the  material 
to  the  spiritual  according  to  any  process  strictly  scientific? 
Most  certainly  not.  There  comes  a  place  where  there  is  a 
great  gulf  fixed  between  the  two.     Now  notice  that  the  one 


36  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

who  leads  the  conceptions  of  men  across  this  gulf  must,  like 
the  great  Master,  never  speak  to  them  without  a  parable — 
i.  e.,  a  parallel,  an  analogy,  a  correspondence,  a  comparison. 
Did  you  ever  think  of  the  fact  that,  scientifically  inter- 
preted, it  is  not  true  that  God  is  a  father,  or  Christ  a  son  of 
God,  or  an  elder  brother  of  Christians,  or  the  latter  children 
of  Abraham?  These  are  merely  forms  taken  from  earthly 
relationships,  in  order  to  image  spiritual  relationships, 
which,  except  in  imagination,  could  not  m  anyway  become 
conceivable.  This  method  of  conceiving  of  conditions, 
which  may  be  great  realities  in  the  mental,  ideal,  spiritual 
realm,  through  the  representation  of  them  in  material  form, 
is  one  of  the  very  first  conditions  of  a  religious  conception. 
But  what  is  the  method?  It  is  the  artistic  method.  Un- 
less this  could  be  used,  science  would  stop  at  the  brink  of  the 
material  with  no  means  of  going  farther,  and  religion  begin 
at  the  brink  of  the  spiritual  with  no  means  of  finding  any 
other  starting-point.  Art  differs  from  both  science  and 
religion  in  cultivating  imagination  instead  of  knowledge, 
as  does  the  one,  and  instead  of  conduct,  as  does  the  other. 
But  notice,  in  addition  to  what  has  been  said  of  its  being 
an  aid  to  science,  what  an  aid  to  religion  is  the  ar- 
tistic habit  of  looking  upon  every  form  in  this  material 
world  as  full  of  analogies  and  correspondences,  inspiring 
conceptions  and  ideals  spiritual  in  their  nature,  which 
need  only  the  impulse  of  conscience  to  direct  them 
into  the  manifestation  of  the  spiritual  in  conduct.  This 
habit  of  mind  is  what  art,  when  legitimately  developed, 
always  produces.  It  not  only  necessitates,  as  applied  to 
mere  form — and  in  this  it  differs  from  religion  and  resembles 
science — great  accuracy  in  observation,  but  also,  as  applied 
to  that  which  the  form  images — and  in  this  it  differs  from 
science  and  resembles  religion — it  necessitates  the  most  exact 
and  minute  fulfilment  of  the  laws  of  analogy  and  correspond- 
ence. These  laws,  which,  because  difficult  and  sometimes 
impossible  to  detect,  some  imagine  not  to  exist,  nevertheless 
do  exist;  and  they  give,  not  only  to  general  effects,  but 
to  every  minutest  different  element  of  tone,  cadence,  line, 
and  color,  a  different  and  definite  meaning,  though  often 
greatly  modified,  of  course,  when  an  element  is  differently 
combined  with  other  elements. — Essay  on  Art  and  Education. 
Science  has  to  do  mainly  with  matter,  religion  with  spirit, 
and  art  with  both ;  for  by  matter  we  mean  the  external  world 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  37 

and  its  appearances,  which  art  must  represent,  and  by 
spirit  we  mean  the  internal  world  of  thoughts  and  emotions, 
which  also  art  must  represent.  The  foundations  of  art, 
therefore,  rest  in  the  realms  both  of  science  and  of  religion; 
and  its  superstructure  is  the  bridge  between  them.  Nor 
can  you  get  from  the  one  to  the  other,  or  enjoy  the  whole 
of  the  territory  in  which  humanity  was  made  to  live,  with- 
out using  the  bridge.  Matter  and  spirit  are  like  water  and 
steam.  They  are  separate  in  reality:  we  join  them  in 
conception.  So  with  science  and  religion,  and  the  concep- 
tion which  brings  both  into  harmonious  union  is  a  normal 
development  of  only  art. — Idem. 

A  religious  conception  cannot  become  artistic  until 
imagination  has  presented  it  in  a  form  which  manifests  an 
observation  of  external  appearances  and  an  information 
with  reference  to  them  as  accurate,  in  some  regards,  as  are 
those  of  science.  Nor  can  a  scientific  conception  become 
artistic  before  imagination  has  haloed  it  about  with  sugges- 
tions as  inspired,  in  some  regards,  as  are  those  of  religion. — 
The  Representative  Significance  of  Form,  vi. 

ART  vs.  NATURE. 

In  the  degree  in  which  significance  is  thus  introduced 
into  a  painting,  it  necessarily  calls  attention  to  something 
that  could  not  be  suggested  by  the  objects  if  depicted 
merely  as  they  exist  in  nature.  This  something  is  an  effect 
of  rearrangement  in  accordance  with  a  mental  purpose. 
The  objects  as  reproduced  in  art  are  thus  made  representa- 
tive of  the  artist,  of  man;  and,  therefore,  it  is  that,  in  a  true 
sense,  the  result  may  be  said  to  belong  to  the  humanities. 
If  we  could  imagine  a  picture  in  which  the  imitation  was  so 
accurate  that  no  one  could  tell  the  difference  between  it 
and  nature,  we  should  have  a  result  that,  on  the  surface 
would  not  reveal  itself  to  be  the  product  of  a  man.  The 
effect  would  be  indistinguishable  from  that  of  nature. 
But  art  is  different  from  nature;  and,  interesting  and  desir- 
able as  is  vsuccess  in  imitation,  clever  deception  is  not 
synonymous  with  artistic  skill.  It  must  not  be  forgotten 
that,  beyond  imitation,  and  not  at  all  interfering  with  it, 
something  else  needs  to  be  superimposed  before  the  art- 
product  can  be  crowned  with  that  which  is  indicative  of  its 
having  a  right  to  the  highest  rank. — Painting,  Sculpture^ 
and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,  xiv. 


38  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

ARTISTIC  BASED  UPON  NATURAL  REQUIREMENTS. 

It  is  not  meant  to  be  maintained  here  that  all  architects 
who  first  used  the  dome  or  pointed  spire,  or  windows 
with  round  or  pointed  arches,  did  so  because  they  had 
personally  seen  among  savage  tribes  similar  constructions, 
which  they  consciously  imitated.  The  same  cause  that, 
among  the  savages,  would  operate  to  make  those  using 
cheap  material  build  with  a  round  or  pointed  arch,  would 
operate  also  among  those  using  costly  material.  All  that 
it  is  intended  to  maintain,  is,  that  these  several  forms  are 
first  adopted  in  order  to  meet  certain  requirements  of 
nature;  and  afterwards  are  imitated  and  ornamentally 
developed  in  order  to  meet  artistic  requirements. — Idenij 
XX. 

ARTISTIC  CONCEPTIONS  NECESSITATE  FORM. 

A  scientific  formulation — mathematic  or  geometric, 
for  instance — usually  indicates  the  interdependence  of  the 
conditions  for  which  it  stands  without  conveying  the 
slightest  conception  of  their  appearances.  In  the  ideality 
which  characterizes  art,  this  is  not  so;  the  imagination 
conforms  the  ideas  to  the  outlines  of  certain  known  objects, 
events,  or  experiences.  Artistic  conceptions  are  therefore 
necessarily  connected  in  thought  with  form,  i.  e.,  with  a 
visible  or  audible  effect  which  is  referred  to,  or  is  imitated, 
in  order  to  express  them,  as,  in  such  cases,  they  must  be 
expressed,  by  way  of  representation. — The  Representative 
Significance  of  Form,  xii. 

ARTISTIC  NATURES  {see  also  sentiment). 
All  men  have  emotion.  All  may  be  strongly  moved,  and, 
in  such  circumstances,  the  minds  of  all  may  be  subject  to 
that  subconscious  action  which  is  one  source  of  imagination. 
But  when  we  try  to  answer  the  question, — To  what  extent 
may  one  as  compared  with  another  be  subject  to  this?  we 
find  the  differences  between  men  almost  world-wide.  We 
must  conclude,  therefore,  that  large  numbers  are  by  nature 
excluded  from  the  sphere  of  action  of  the  artist.  They  are 
too  cautious,  too  much  under  the  control  of  consciousness, 
or,  as  we  say,  self -consciousness,  to  give  themselves  up  to  the 
abandon  of  subconscious  mental  activity.  It  is  not  only 
great  orators  who  lose  themselves  in  their  subjects  before 
they  become  eloquent.  Sculptors,  painters,  and  musicians 
have  a  similar  experience.     "If  you  think  how  you  are  to 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  39 

write,**  said  Mozart,  "you  will  never  write  anything  worth 
hearing.  I  write  because  I  cannot  help  it."  Viewed  in  this 
light,  we  may  trace  to  the  power  that  Shakespeare  and 
Goethe  had  of  objectifying  and  so  of  forgetting  themselves, 
not  only  the  effects  but  the  causes  also  of  their  greatness. 
It  might  be  almost  said  that  faith  in  the  results  of  that 
which  is  beyond  the  sphere  of  consciousness  enables  one  to 
reach  the  aesthetic  paradise  no  less  than  the  heavenly. 
Especially  in  these  intensely  practical  times  of  factories 
and  furnaces,  what  but  the  ability  to  preserve  one's  rela- 
tionship with  something  hidden,  with  some  ideal  that 
cannot  be  smelt  or  touched,  with  something  real  though  in 
realms  of  mystery, — what  but  this  can  keep  the  soul  in  a 
region  where  results  of  art  are  possible?  And  if  some  by 
nature  be  excluded  from  the  sphere  of  action  of  the  artist, 
it  must  be  equally  true  that  some  by  nature  are  included 
in  it.  And,  now  and  then,  their  products  may  evince  this 
fact.  From  the  realm  of  their  nativity  they  can  be  banished 
wholly  neither  by  the  deadening  effects  of  practical  life, 
nor  by  the  lack  of  the  quickening  influences  of  assthetic 
education. — Idem,  xiii. 

ARTISTIC  vs.  SCIENTIFIC  MENTAL  ACTION  {see  TEMPERAMENT). 

All  children,  because  their  brains  are  active,  are  artistic 
in  their  tendencies.  The  very  essence  of  artistic  imitation 
is  mimicry;  and  what  child  is  entirely  destitute  of  this? 
Very  nearly  all  the  young  pass  through  a  dramatic  age,  in 
which  they  flower  into  poetry;  and  whether  the  blossoms 
soon  fade  or  bloom  perennially  depends  mainly  upon  the 
permanence  within  them  of  the  characteristics  thus  mani- 
fested. When  men  arrive  at  maturity,  the  artistic  mind,  as 
distinguished  from  the  scientific,  continues  to  form  theories 
before  it  reasons  them  out,  and  to  imagine  truth  before  it  in- 
vestigates. If  one  naturally  of  an  artistic  temperament  ever 
can  reach  results  that  are  scientific,  this  term  "scientific" 
cannot  be  applied  to  the  movements  of  his  mind  prepara- 
tory to  these.  Instead  of  advancing  step  by  step  toward 
his  end,  he  first  jumps  to  his  conclusions,  and  then  turns 
backward  to  discover  the  intervening  steps.  Very  difficult, 
too,  as  a  rule,  is  his  task  in  bringing  these  to  the  light. 
Through  the  mist-hung  marshes  which  the  wings  of  his 
imagination  have  borne  him  across,  he  must  flounder  on 
foot,   picking  his  pathway  painfully   until  he  reach  his 


40  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

starting-point.  Yet  if  he  do  not  do  this,  his  own  explana- 
tions of  what  he  has  accompHshed  will  be  more  apt  to  entitle 
him  to  rank  as  a  visionary  among  idealists  than  as  a  guide 
among  practical  thinkers.  Notice,  nevertheless,  that  the 
method  of  mental  action  just  described  is  that  which  is  most 
allied  to  the  method  which  the  world  usually  attributes  to 
genius.  A  genius  perceives  a  specific  effect  in  nature, 
and  surmises  thence  a  truth  or  principle  which  is  generic. 
Newton  is  said  to  have  surmised  the  law  of  gravitation 
from  the  sight  of  a  single  apple  falling  from  a  tree;  and 
almost  every  one  who  has  invented  any  kind  of  a  machine 
has  conceived  of  it  as  a  whole  before  he  has  tried  to  construct 
its  separate  parts.  As  everywhere  else,  therefore,  the 
difference  indicated  here  between  the  artistic  and  the 
scientific  mind  is  one  of  degree  and  not  of  kind.  The  artist 
works  almost  exclusively  according  to  the  method  just 
indicated;  so  the  world  supposes  that  he  must  be  a  genius 
necessarily.  The  scientific  man  has  very  much  to  do  be- 
sides surmising  and  inventing;  so  the  world  confines  the 
title  genius  to  the  few  scientific  minds  pre-eminent  in  doing 
these  latter. — Idem,  xiii. 

artists'  love  for  their  own  products. 

The  story  of  Pygmalion  who  fell  in  love  with  his  own 
statue  of  Galatea  is  merely  an  artistic  embodiment  of  the 
conception  of  the  naturally  emotive  susceptibility  of  the 
true  artist.  It  is  doubtful  if  one  of  these  ever  lived  who 
lacked  the  tendency  developed  in  the  tale.  It  is  doubtful 
if  one  without  the  capacity  for  falling  thoroughly  in  love 
with  his  own  product  could  ever  be  an  artist.  God  made 
men,  as  we  are  told,  in  His  own  image,  and  the  highest  manli- 
ness results  when  His  spirit  becomes  incarnated  in  them.  So 
the  artist  forms  art  in  his  own  image;  his  works  reflect  his 
thought  or  feeling;  and  the  highest  excellence  follows  only 
in  the  degree  in  which  his  soul  has  found  complete  embodi- 
ment in  them. — Idem,  xiii. 

artists  need  breadth  of  culture. 

The  highest  result,  as  art  is,  of  human  intelligence  and 
skill,  it  cannot  be  produced  when  only  part  of  the  highest 
possibilities  of  manhood  are  engaged  upon  it.  It  needs  all 
the  resources  that  a  man  can  command,  as  well  as  all  the 
facility  that  he  can  acquire  through  the  education  that 
enables  him  to  command  them. — Idem,  xv. 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  41 

ARTISTS,  SOME  SUCH  BY  NATURE. 

Every  art  is  developed  by  making  a  study  of  methods 
natural  to  exceptional  men  who,  because  they  take  to  them 
naturally,  do  not  need  to  cultivate  them. — Essay  on  Art  and 
Logical  Form. 

ARTISTS,  THEIR  STUDY  OF  NATURE. 

Who  does  not  acknowledge  that  one  characteristic  of  all 
great  artists,  especially  of  those  who  are  leaders  in  their  arts, 
is  the  faithful  study  that  they  give  to  nature.  We  may  not 
admire  the  social  customs  of  ancient  Greece  that  allowed 
its  sculptors  frequent  opportunities  to  observe  the  un- 
clothed forms  of  both  the  sexes;  we  may  shrink  from 
believing  the  story  of  a  Guido  murdering  his  model  in 
order  to  prepare  for  a  picture  of  the  crucifixion;  or  of  a 
David  coolly  sketching  the  faces  of  his  own  friends  when 
put  to  death  amid  the  horrors  of  the  French  Revolution; 
yet,  in  all  these  cases,  there  is  an  artistic  lesson  accom- 
panying the  moral  warning.  It  was  not  in  vain  that 
Morland's  easel  was  constantly  surrounded  by  representa- 
tives of  the  lower  classes;  that  Hogarth  always  had  his 
pencil  with  him  on  the  streets  and  in  the  coffee-houses; 
or  that,  morning  after  morning,  Corot's  canvas  caught  its 
colors  long  before  the  eastern  sky  grew  bright  with  sunlight. 
Or,  if  we  turn  to  literature,  it  is  not  an  insignificant  fact 
that  Shakespeare  and  his  contemporaries,  who  gave  form 
to  the  modern  drama,  as  well  as  Goethe,  who  records  in 
his  Wahrheit  und  Dichtung  the  way  in  which  he  spent  his 
j'-outh  in  Frankfort  and  his  age  in  Weimar,  were  for  years 
the  associates  both  of  the  audiences  and  actors  in  city 
theatres;  or  that  Fielding,  who  gave  form  to  the  modern 
novel,  was  the  justice  of  a  police  court.  High  art  is  dis- 
tinctively a  form  of  nature — a  form  that  is  this  in  the  sense 
of  being  perceptible  in  nature,  or  at  least  directly  suggested 
by  it. — Art  in  Theory,  11. 

ARTISTS  vs.  ARTISANS. 

It  is  wellnigh  universally  recognized  that  the  poet  is  not 
a  reporter,  nor  the  painter  a  photographer,  nor  any  artist 
at  all  entitled  to  the  name,  a  mere  copyist.  For  this  reason 
it  is  felt  that  while,  in  the  main,  he  is  a  careful  observer  of 
outward  appearances,  he,  too,  as  well  as  the  workman  in 
so-called  useful  art,  must  have  ability  to  penetrate  in  some 
way  to  something  underl3ang  these ;  that  pathos  in  ballads, 


42  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

passion  in  dramas,  groupings  on  canvas,  attitudes  in  marble, 
arches  in  cathedrals,  cannot  be  produced  so  as  to  have 
anything  approximating  an  artistic  effect — be  produced 
so  as  to  cause  forms  to  fulfil  both  physical  and  mental  laws, 
— if  their  authors  have  either  studied  the  sounds  and  sights 
of  nature  to  the  exclusion  of  its  operations, — under  which 
term  may  be  included  its  effects  upon  thought  and  feeling 
as  well  as  upon  matter, — or  have  studied  the  latter  to  the 
exclusion  of  the  former.  Men  name  the  producer  of  the 
highest  assthetic  results  an  artist.  By  this  term  they  dis- 
tinguish him  from  one  whose  skill  exhibits  a  more  partial 
exercise  of  his  various  possibilities,  whom  they  term,  if  his 
products  repeat  merely  the  appearances  of  nature,  an 
artisan;  if  they  repeat  merely  its  operations,  a  mechanic. 
The  highest  (Esthetic  art  must  do  both. — Idem,  ii. 

ARTISTS  vs.  SEERS  {see  also  RELIGION  VS.  ART). 

In  general,  it  may  be  said  that  most  men's  conception  of  a 
distinctively  religious  teacher,  to  say  nothing  of  a  prophet, 
excludes  anything  .supposed  to  call  particular  attention 
to  his  own  conscious  intellection,  or  even  to  his  own  intel- 
lect. He  may  possess,  and  add  to  his  influence  by  possess- 
ing, accuracy  of  observation,  breadth  of  information,  and 
brilliancy  of  style,  but  it  is  felt  that  the  value  of  his  work 
does  not  depend  mainly  upon  them.  He  is  supposed  to  be 
guided  to  his  utterance  by  an  agency  above  him,  which  can, 
occasionally,  make  the  words  of  an  ignorant  fisherman  or  a 
weak  child  as  enlightening  and  uplifting  as  those  coming 
from  the  lips  of  the  most  learned  scholar  and  skilful  advocate. 

Notice,  however,  that  just  the  opposite  is  true  in  the 
case  of  art.  For  success  in  it,  accuracy  of  observation 
is  essential,  because  the  artist  derives  from  nature  not 
only  his  suggestions,  but  the  very  form  of  the  image  which 
he  must  use  in  indicating  them.  So  with  reference  to 
breadth  of  information.  When  the  results  of  subconscious 
mental  action  must  be  represented  through  the  results  of 
conscious  observation,  information  obtained  through  this 
latter  is  indispensable.  Again,  too,  because  supposed,  in  a 
degree  not  true  of  a  religious  leader,  to  work  out  his  concep- 
tions according  to  conscious  mental  methods,  it  is  felt  that 
the  artist  must  have  more  than  a  usual  amount  of  mental 
ability.  In  fact,  it  is  felt  that  there  is,  and  should  be,  an 
immense  difference   between  the  motive  underl3dng   the 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  43 

effect  produced  by  the  preacher  and  by  the  actor.  The 
actor  we  admire,  as  we  do  every  artist,  on  account  of  a 
manifestation  of  acquired  faciHty  in  holding  the  mirror  of 
the  subconscious  as  also  of  the  conscious  mind  up  to  nature 
so  that  each  mind  shall  work  with  apparent  spontaneity 
as  regards  both  impression  and  expression;  and  no  matter 
how  much  he  may  reveal  of  the  results  of  subconscious 
action,  he  is  either  supposed  to  have  attained  these  results 
through  lofty  flights  of  his  own  self -impelled  imagination, 
or  else,  if  presumed  to  have  received  them  precisely  as 
prophets  receive  religious  truth,  to  have  rendered  them 
effective  through  acquired  skill,  by  means  of  which  he  has 
been  enabled  to  give  them  form. — The  Representative 
Significance  of  Form,  vii. 

ARTS,  THE,  ARE  ATTRIBUTABLE  TO  DIFFERENT  EFFECTS  UPON 

THE  MIND. 

As  related  to  the  processes  of  representative  art,  the  mind 
or  the  imagination,  which  is  the  faculty  of  the  mind  princi- 
pally engaged  in  the  work,  acts,  as  it  were,  Hke  a  mirror.  At 
different  stages,  as  the  trains  of  influence  pass  by,  it  flashes 
back  that  which  necessarily  takes  a  form  analogous  either 
to  music,  poetry  (oratory),  painting,  sculpture,  or  iarchi- 
tecture.  We  shall  find,  in  short,  that  all  these  arts  are 
elaborations  of  instinctive  modes  of  expression  which,  in 
certain  circumstances,  the  mind  is  forced  to  adopt,  all 
representative  art  being,  as  Opie  says  of  painting  in  the  first 
of  his  " Lectures "  upon  that  subject,  "a  language  that  must 
exist,  in  some  greater  or  less  degree,  whenever  the  human  in- 
tellect approaches  a  certain,  and  that  by  no  means  elevated, 
standard." — Art  in  Theory,  xvi. 

ARTS,   THE,   AS   INFLUENCED  BY    BOTH    NATURE   AND   MIND. 

Let  us  represent  the  contents  of  the  mind  by  the  floating 
but,  except  for  outside  influence,  stationary  ice  in  some  bay 
or  inlet,  and  at  the  same  time  represent  that  which  flows 
into  the  mind  by  the  waves  and  currents  entering  this 
bay  or  inlet  from  an  ocean.  Let  us  observe  what  is  the 
natural  order  of  development  of  the  relations  sustained 
between  the  waters  thus  forced  inward  and  the  ice.  Is 
it  not  something  Hke  this? — At  the  point  nearest  the  ocean, 
the  waves  sweeping  over  the  ice  break  off  and  bear  up  and 
down  small  portions  of  it,  but  with  such  force  that  the  ice 
forms  but  an  insignificant,  perhaps  an  indistinguishable, 


44  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

part  of  the  effect  of  the  waves  as  a  whole.  This  is  the  condi- 
tion corresponding  to  that  of  music.  A  Httle  farther  inward, 
the  floating  ice  covers  the  waves.  We  see  mainly  the  ice, 
but  it  is  moving,  and  its  movement  indicates  that  of  the 
water  under  it.  This  is  the  condition  found  in  poetry. 
Still  farther  inward,  the  portions  of  broken  ice,  crowded 
together  by  the  force  of  the  waves,  begin  to  offer  mani- 
fest resistance.  Up  to  this  point  one  could  hardly  dis- 
tinguish from  a  distance  the  ice  from  the  waves.  Here  it 
becomes  almost  impossible  to  confound  the  two;  for  at 
one  place  the  weight  on  the  surface  is  seen  crushing  down 
the  surf,  and  at  another  the  surf  is  seen  breaking  through 
and  above  the  surface.  This  is  the  state  of  things  in 
painting  and  sculpture.  Last  of  all,  at  places  nearest  the 
shore,  the  force  of  the  waves  seems  to  be  crushed  out  com- 
pletely, yet  the  effects  produced  by  them  are  abundantly 
apparent  in  the  great  moveless  heaps  of  ice  resting  against 
the  water-line.  This  represents  the  condition  in  archi- 
tecture. Let  us  now  notice  whether  this  order  of  develop- 
ment in  the  relations  existing  between  the  influence  from 
without  and  the  possessions  within  the  mind  has  any  basis 
in  facts;  first  in  physical  facts,  afterwards  in  mental  facts. 
To  begin  with,  are  there  any  physical  facts  which  justify 
us  in  comparing  the  action  of  outer  effects  upon  the  mind 
to  that  of  waves  upon  something  stationary;  and  if  so,  is 
there  any  reason  why  these  waves,  at  their  greatest,  can  be 
represented  in  music,  and,  at  their  least,  in  architecture? 
To  both  these  questions  we  can  give  an  affirmative  answer. 
Physicists  tell  us  that  the  acoustic  nerve  is  surrounded  by 
a  fluid  back  of  the  drum  of  the  ear;  also  that  the  optic 
nerve  is  surrounded  by  a  corresponding  humor  back  of 
the  crystalline  lens  of  the  eye.  They  tell  us  that  when- 
ever sounds  or  sights  reach  intelligence,  they  are  conveyed 
to  it  because,  as  a  fact,  these  nerves  are  physically  shaken 
through  the  influence  of  waves  from  without  which  strike 
the  ear  drum  or  the  crystalline  lens.  So  much  for  the 
first  question;  now  for  the  second.  Physicists  tell  us 
also  that  the  waves  vibrating  to  shake  the  acoustic  nerve 
are  so  large  that,  at  the  least,  about  sixteen  of  them,  and 
at  the  most,  about  forty  thousand,  can  move  in  a  second 
of  time;  but  that,  on  the  other  hand,  the  waves  shaking 
the  retina  are  so  minute  that,  at  the  least,  about  four  hun- 
dred and   eighty-three   trillions,  and,  at   the  most,  seven 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  45 

hundred  and  twenty-seven  trillions,  can  move  in  a  second. 
These  assertions  indicate  that  the  sensation  of  being  most 
shaken,  shaken  by  the  largest  waves,  or  when  the  influence 
has  most  force,  can  be  represented  or  communicated  better — 
and  any  nervous  mother  with  half  a  dozen  small  boys  will 
confirm  the  statement  from  her  own  experience — through 
sound  than  through  sight.  Whether  we  consider  quantity 
or  quality,  there  is  more  of  sound  represented  in  music 
than  in  poetry.  By  consequence,  of  the  two  arts,  the 
former  represents  better  the  first  effect  of  a  motive  per  se; 
i.  e.,  the  most  powerful,  the  least  exhausted  effect  of  any 
influence  from  without,  considered  merely  as  an  influence. 
Oratory  appeals  to  sight  as  well  as  to  hearing.  For  this 
reason  it  represents  a  later  effect  than  poetry.  Of  those 
arts  which,  because  they  appeal  to  sight  alone,  represent 
effects  in  sight  still  later  than  oratory,  painting  evidently 
comes  first.  It  uses  more  briUiancy  and  variety  of  color, 
necessitating  larger  vibrations — the  largest  of  all,  for  in- 
stance, producing  extreme  red — and  also  greater  dependence 
upon  everything  conditioned  directly  by  influence  of  this 
kind  than  does  either  sculpture  or  architecture. — Essentials 
of  Esthetics,  ix. 

In  its  lack  of  the  imitative  element,  and  therefore  in 
having  forms  that  recall  nature  more  by  way  of  association 
than  of  comparison,  architecture  resembles  music.  Madame 
de  Stael  termed  it  "frozen  music";  and  with  our  present 
view  of  the  subject,  we  may  perceive  the  appropriateness 
of  her  metaphor.  In  music,  the  influence  coming  from 
without  moves  so  rapidly  and  freely  that,  as  contrasted 
with  it,  the  mind  is  hardly  conscious  of  its  own  ideas.  In 
architecture,  on  the  contrary,  this  influence  seems  so  slight 
that  of  it  the  mind  is  hardly  conscious.  That  which  flows 
in  the  one  art  may  be  said  to  be  congealed  in  the  other,  and 
the  artistic  representation  of  each  state  of  consciousness 
evinces  this.  The  medium  of  music  moves;  that  of  archi- 
tecture stands.  Because  of  the  lack  of  balance  in  both 
arts  between  the  consciousness  of  the  influence  from  without 
and  that  of  the  ideas  within,  the  connection  between  influ- 
ence and  ideas  is  not,  in  either  art,  always  apparent.  Many, 
in  fact,  fancy  that  music  represents  no  ideas,  and  architec- 
ture no  influences  derived  from  the  forms  of  nature.  But 
the  truth  is  that,  without  both  arts,  the  representations  of 
the  different  phases  of  consciousness,  developing,  one  after 


4^  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

another,  as  has  been  shown,  would  be  incomplete.  The 
two  arts  are  expressive  respectively  of  the  two  extremes  of 
this, — of  those  misty  border  lands  of  apprehension  where 
external  influence  appears  and  where  it  disappears.  Be- 
tween these  two  extremes,  the  motive  from  without  and  the 
ideas  within  are  more  evenly  balanced.  The  effect  in  the 
intellect  (inter  and  lego),  as  jointly  influenced  by  both,  leads, 
when  the  consciousness  of  the  influence  from  without 
exerted  upon  the  emotions  is  the  stronger,  to  comparison, 
tending,  as  in  poetry  and  oratory,  to  identifying  the  two; 
and,  when  the  consciousness  of  the  ideas  within,  deliber- 
ately modifying  by  reflection  the  influence  from  without, 
is  the  stronger,  to  comparison  also,  but  with  more  realiza- 
tion of  a  contrast  between  the  two,  as  is  the  case  in  land- 
scape gardening,  painting,  and  sculpture.  Taken  together, 
the  arts  that  have  been  mentioned  represent  every  possible 
effect  produced  in  the  mind  as  emotions,  intellect,  and  will 
successively  receive  and  modify  the  influence  that  the  audi- 
ble or  visible  forms  of  nature  exert  upon  it.  The  expres- 
sional  series  is  complete  all  the  way  from  where,  in  music,  we 
heed  the  roaring  of  the  waves  of  influence  as  they  dash  upon 
apprehension,  to  where,  in  architecture,  we  perceive  the 
spray  that  congeals  in  fairy  shapes  above  the  place  where 
their  force  has  been  spent. — Art  in  Theory,  xix. 

In  the  moods  represented  in  music  and  poetry,  the  in- 
fluence from  without  is  recognized  in  consciousness  mainly 
because  the  thoughts  move  with  it.  This  movement,  there- 
fore, is  appropriately  represented  in  musical  tones  and  poetic 
words  that  follow  one  another  in  time.  In  the  moods  rep- 
resented in  painting,  sculpture,  and  architecture,  however, 
the  mind  is  prompted  to  conceive  of  the  influence  as  sepa- 
rate and  different  from  the  ideas;  frequently,  indeed,  as  of- 
fering a  contrast  to  them.  The  influence  from  without  is 
recognized  in  consciousness  mainly  because,  as  contrasted 
with  the  influence,  the  thoughts  are  relatively,  though  not 
absolutely,  stationary.  Consider  now  how  these  facts 
must  be  represented.  If  one  wish  to  give  expression  to  a 
consciousness  of  an  external  source  of  influence  which  is 
separate  and  different  from  the  ideas  within  his  mind,  he 
can  do  this  effectively  only  through  using  an  external  me- 
dium which  alone  is  clearly  separate  and  different  from  them. 
Again,  a  contrast  is  always  revealed  most  clearly  when  ob- 
jects are  viewed  not  one  at  a  time,  but  two  or  more  at  a  time. 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  47 

If  one  wish,  therefore,  to  represent  a  consciousness  of  con- 
trast, especially  in  connection  with  that  of  a  continuation  of 
a  difference  between  the  external  world  and  his  own  ideas  of 
it,  he  can  best  do  this  through  using  a  medium  that  presents 
objects  not  in  succession,  like  the  words  of  a  poem,  but  side 
by  side  in  space  like  the  forms  on  the  canvas  of  a  picture. 
And  if  he  wish,  again,  to  represent  the  fact  that  his  own 
ideas,  though  affected  by  the  influence,  are  not  swept  away 
or  onward  by  it ;  but  that  whatever  effects  are  produced  are 
confined  to  suggestions  prompted  by  the  objects  in  nature 
that  continue  to  stand  immediately  before  him,  he  can  best 
represent  this  fact  too  through  using  a  medium  that  will  stay 
thought  like  a  scene  rather  than  hurry  it  on  Hke  a  story. — 
Idem,  XIX. 

ASSOCIATION,  AS    AN   ART   METHOD    {see    also   COMPARISON). 

Association  and  comparison,  however,  as  has  been  pointed 
out  in  former  essays  of  this  series,  are  in  all  cases  very  closely 
allied,  and  sometimes  are  practically  inseparable.  Associa- 
tion is  based  upon  suggested  likeness  in  the  underl5dng 
principle  exemplified  in  two  things  which  are  apparently 
different.  Comparison  is  based  upon  apparent  likeness  in 
the  things  themselves.  Whether,  as  a  fact,  we  connect 
them  by  way  of  association  or  of  comparison,  depends 
partly  upon  our  point  of  view,  and  partly  upon  the  degree  of 
external  similarity  between  them.  Sometimes  we  associate 
things  that  are  different  in  specific  details,  because  they  are 
connected  with  some  identical  general  effect.  Thus  we 
associate  the  moon  and  the  stars,  because  both  are  con- 
nected with  the  general  effect  of  the  night-time ;  or  hens  and 
turkeys,  because  both  are  connected  with  the  general 
effect  of  a  barn-yard.  Yet  while  this  is  true,  observe  also 
that,  in  case  we  be  thinking  of  the  heavenly  bodies,  we  can 
also  compare  the  moon  and  stars,  because,  from  that  point 
of  view,  we  can  find  many  regards  in  which  in  specific 
details  the  two  are  alike,  and  so,  in  case  we  be  thinking  of 
fowls,  we  can  compare  hens  and  turkeys.  Again,  in  case 
a  Greek  column  supporting  a  heavy  entablature  be  perceived 
to  be  like  a  Gothic  column  supporting  a  heavy  arch,  in  one 
regard  alone,  namely,  in  being  large  in  size,  then  we  can 
say  that  the  one  column  suggests  the  other  by  way  of 
association.  But  in  case  the  Greek  column  be  perceived  to 
be  like  another  Greek  column  in  most  regards  or  in  many 


48  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

regards,  then  we  can  say  that  the  one  definitely  recalls  the 
other  by  way  of  comparison.  Moreover,  in  case  we  have 
learned  that  the  Greek  column  is  large  in  order  to  hold  up  a 
heavy  weight,  then  we  can  infer  that  the  Gothic  column  is 
large  in  order  to  do  the  same  thing;  and  we  may  say  that 
the  latter,  by  way  of  association,  represents  the  same  general 
idea,  or  conception,  of  strength  in  support  which  we  have 
originally  derived  from  the  former.  But  if  the  latter  column 
as  well  as  the  former  be  Greek,  that  is,  if  both  columns 
manifest  the  same  details  of  appearance,  then  we  may  say 
that  the  latter  not  only  represents  the  same  idea  or  concep- 
tion of  strength  in  support  as  does  the  former,  but  that  it 
does  this  by  way  of  comparison  as  well  as  of  association. — 
Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,  i. 

BALUSTRADE,  REPRESENTING  A  FLAT  ROOF. 

What  does  a  balustrade  as  thus  indicated  represent? 
What  is  it  for?  What  but  to  keep  people  from  falling  over? 
But  if  they  need  to  be  kept  from  this,  they  must  be  expected 
to  walk  on  the  roof  behind  the  balustrade.  But  how  could 
they  walk  on  a  roof  unless  it  were  fiat?  A  few  questions 
like  this  will  lead  to  the  inference  that  a  balustrade  neces- 
sarily represents  a  flat  roof.  Now,  if  we  compare  with  this 
inference,  the  fact  that  this  sort  of  ornamentation  is  recog- 
nized by  almost  everybody  as,  on  the  whole,  the  most 
satisfactory  for  a  wall  supporting  a  flat  roof,  we  shall  have 
obtained  at  least  one  proof  that  when  by  conscious  design 
or  unconscious  accident  the  architect  faithfully  represents 
actual  conditions,  he  does  exactly  what  will  fulfil  the  artistic 
conceptions  of  the  majority  of  people. — Idem,  xix. 

BEAUTIFUL,  THE,  VS.  THE  ARTISTIC  (see  ART  AND  BEAUTY). 

The  artistic  may  result  from  any  isolated  proof  of  crafts- 
manship. Not  so  with  the  beautiful.  It  is  general  in  its 
eft'ects,  and  these  transcend  those  of  the  craftsman.  The 
light  that  it  possesses  is  like  that  of  a  halo.  It  illumines 
everything  of  which  it  forms  a  part,  its  influence  on  the 
mind  extending  to  the  whole  mental  environment,  giving 
suggestions  to  imagination,  stimulus  to  aspiration,  and  fill- 
ing every  allied  department  and  recess  of  energy  with  that 
subtle  force  which  men  attribute  to  inspiration.  It  is 
merely  in  accordance  with  a  law  of  nature,  therefore,  that, 
as  a  fact,  all  such  statues,  pictures,  poems,  buildings  of  past 
ages  as  are  universally  considered  to  be  great  conform  to 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  49 

the  laws  of  ethics  almost  as  fully  as  to  the  laws  of  aesthetics, 
' — ^in  other  words,  that  one  test  of  greatness  in  art  has  always 
been  its  influence  upon  morals. — Essay  on  Art  and  Morals. 

BEAUTIFUL,  THE,  VS.  THE  USEFUL  IN  ARTS. 

The  question,  as  applied  to  sights  or  sounds,  suggests 
at  once  that  when  a  man,  not  for  a  useful  but,  ...  for  an 
aesthetic  end,  reproduces  these,  he  must  do  so  mainly 
because  something  about  them  has  interested,  attracted, 
and,  as  we  say,  charmed  him.  There  is  one  word  that  we 
are  accustomed  to  apply  to  any  form,  whether  of  sight  or  of 
sound,  that  attracts  and  charms  us.  It  is  the  word  beautiful 
.  .  .  To-day,  everywhere,  it  seems  to  be  conceded  that 
arts  of  the  highest  class  should  reproduce  mainly,  at  least, 
and  some  seem  to  think  solely,  such  phenomena  of  nature 
as  are  beautiful.  .  .  .  For  a  sufficient  reason  then  did  the 
Ahh6  Du  Bos  in  1719,  in  his  ''Reflexions  critique  sur  la 
Po^sie  et  la  Peinture, "  first  apply  to  the  arts  the  term 
*'Les  Beaux  Arts." — The  Essentials  of  ^Esthetics,  11. 

BEAUTIFUL  VS.   POPULAR  STYLE. 

And  people  call,  and  most  of  them  think,  the  prevailing 
style  beautiful,  merely  because  it  happens  to  be  current  and 
popular.  They  are  so  constituted  that,  consciously  or 
unconsciously,  they  are  unable  to  resist  the  tide  that,  ap- 
parently, is  bearing  along  every  one  else.  When  the  same 
tendencies  appear  in  art  it  strikes  me  that  the  critic  who 
is  of  value  to  the  world  is  the  man  who,  in  case  public  opin- 
ion be  setting  in  the  wrong  direction,  is  able  to  resist  it,  is 
able  to  look  beneath  the  surface,  analyze  the  effects,  detect 
the  errors,  put  together  his  conclusions,  and  have  indepen- 
dence enough  to  express  them.  When  the  current  theory  is 
riding  straight  toward  the  brink,  he  is  the  man  who  fore- 
sees the  danger,  screws  down  the  brakes,  and  turns  the 
steeds  the  other  way — not  the  sentimentalist  irresponsibly 
swept  into  folly  by  the  fury  of  the  crowd,  or  the  demagog 
whooping  its  shibboleth  to  the  echo,  because,  forsooth, 
he  must  be  popular. — Essay  on  Art  and  Education, 

BEAUTY  AND  ANALOGY  IN  ART  (see  also   ANALOGY). 

Our  standards  of  beauty,  concerning  which  the  reader  may 
consult  Chapters  X.  to  XIV.  of  "Art  in  Theory,"  are  derived 
primarily  from  certain  forms  of  nature,  which,  because 
attractive  and  charming  in  themselves,  cause  men  to  like 
to  look  at  them  and  to  think  about  them.    Accordingly, 


50  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

if  a  man  wish  to  produce  forms  of  art  which  men  will  like 
to  look  at  and  to  think  about,  it  is  merely  a  dictate  of 
policy,  and,  if  he  be  an  artist,  it  is  generally  a  dictate  of 
preference,  for  him  to  select  these  forms  for  his  models; 
and  in  the  degree  in  which  he  reproduces  them,  or  any  effects 
analogous  to  theirs,  his  product  will  have  beauty.  What  is 
to  prevent  his  selecting  them  because,  viewed  in  one  aspect, 
they  are  beautiful;  and  yet  also  selecting  them  because, 
viewed  in  another  aspect,  they,  as  well  as  all  other  natural 
forms,  are  analogical?  Certainly  there  is  no  conflict  be- 
tween the  conception  that  beauty  is  of  paramount  aesthetic 
importance,  and  the  conception  that  the  effects  obtained 
through  the  use  of  beauty  should  be  analogical. — The 
Representative  Significance  of  Fornix  xii. 

BEAUTY,   ATTRIBUTED  TO   BOTH  FORM   AND   SIGNIFICANCE. 

Let  us  recall  a  woman,  in  prominent  position,  of  great 
beauty  of  form  and  excellence  of  character,  a  woman  with 
the  reputation,  say,  of  Queen  Louise  of  Prussia,  the  mother 
of  the  first  Emperor  William.  Here  was  one  whose  form 
and  face  were  of  such  a  nature  that,  owing  solely  to  their 
effects  upon  the  organs  of  sight,  they  would  cause  almost 
any  observer  of  ordinary  taste,  however  ignorant  of  whom 
or  of  what  she  was,  to  declare  her  to  be  beautiful.  But, 
behind  and  above  the  attractions  of  her  mere  appearance, 
she  had  such  a  character,  such  mental  and  sympathetic 
traits,  that  none  of  her  own  family,  intimately  acquainted 
with  these,  would  have  been  willing  to  admit  that  she  was 
beautiful  to  others  in  as  deep  and  spiritual  a  sense  as  to 
themselves.  But  to  what  would  their  unwillingness  to 
admit  this  be  owing,  except  to  a  subtle  belief  in  a  phase  of 
beauty  dependent  upon  effects  exerted  not  upon  physical 
organs,  but  upon  mind  and  soul?  At  the  same  time,  had 
one  of  their  number  been  blind,  all  the  others  would  have 
regretted  the  impossibility  of  this  one's  recognizing  her 
beauty  as  they  did.  But  to  what  would  this  feeling  be 
owing,  except  to  an  inward  conviction  that  beauty  is  a 
result  of  effects  coming  from  form  as  well  as  from  character ; 
and,  not  only  this,  but  also  from  both  of  them  when  com- 
bined.— Art  in  Theory,  xii. 

This  combination  of  mental  effects  with  those  of  form 
can  be  recognized  more  clearly  in  connection  with  poetry. 
In  this  art,  besides  the  beauty  which  is  due  to  phraseology, 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  51 

as  manifested  in  the  choice  and  sequence  of  words,  and  in 
various  developments  of  assonance,  alliteration,  rhythm, 
and  rhyme,  everybody  acknowledges  that  there  is  also  a 
beauty  dependent  upon  the  thought,  the  proof  of  which  is 
that  this  beauty  is  frequently  as  great  in  prose  as  in  poetry. 
But  from  what  does  this  beauty  spring?  Clearly  and  un- 
mistakably from  a  combination  of  the  effects  of  recollection, 
association,  and  suggestion,  assuming  concrete  form  in  the 
imagination;  in  other  words,  from  the  harmonious  effects 
of  many  different  forms,  some  coming  from  without  and 
some  from  within  the  mind,  some  perceptible  to  sight  or 
recalled  by  memory  as  once  perceptible  to  sight,  and  some, 
according  to  the  laws  of  the  mind,  merely  conjured  by  fancy. 
As  a  rule,  too,  the  wider  apart  the  spheres  are  from  which 
these  effects  are  derived,  introducing  that  which  is  un- 
expected and  surprising,  the  more  striking  is  the  beauty 
resulting  from  their  combination,  as  where  those  that  are 
extremely  material  are  united  to  those  that  are  extremely 
mental,  e.  g., 

Still  as  a  slave  before  his  lord, 
The  ocean  hath  no  blast; 

His  great  bright  eye  most  silently 
Up  to  the  moon  is  cast. 

The  Ancient  Mariner:  Coleridge. 
— Essentials  of  Esthetics,  11. 

If  men  think  with  the  classicists  of  the  extreme  type  that 
the  chief  end  of  art  is  imitation,  either  of  classic  models  or 
of  nature,  is  it  not  because,  consciously  or  unconsciously, 
they  hold  to  a  belief  that  beauty  is  conditioned  mainly 
upon  form?  And  if,  on  the  contrary  ,  they  think  with  the 
romanticists  that  the  chief  end  of  art  is  the  expression 
of  ideas,  is  it  not  because  they  believe  that  beauty  is 
a  result  of  thought  or  feeUng  either  of  the  human  mind 
as  in  art,  or  of  the  creative  mind,  as,  according  to  the 
Platonists,  in  nature?  The  inference,  therefore,  from 
what  has  been  said  hitherto,  is  that  there  must  be  some 
who  attribute  beauty  to  form;  and  some  who  attribute  it  to 
the  thought  or  feeHng  expressed  in  the  form,  with  a  proba- 
biUty  also  of  the  existence  of  some  who  attribute  it  partly 
to  the  one  source  and  partly  to  the  other. — Art  in  Theory,  x. 

BEAUTY   ATTRIBUTED   TO   HARMONY   OF   COMPLEX    EFFECTS. 

The  phase  of  unity  appealing  to  scientific  apprehension 
is  usually  the  basis  of  conscious  or  unconscious  classifica- 


52  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

tion  as  it  is  termed;  that  appealing  to  philosophic  compre- 
hension is  usually  the  basis  of  what,  if  distinguished  at  all 
from  classification,  is  termed  systemization ;  and  that  ap- 
pealing to  aesthetic  appreciation  can  be  defined  by  no  better 
term,  perhaps,  than  harmony,  as  the  word  is  used  not  in  a 
technical  but  in  a  general  sense.  As  we  shall  find  presently, 
it  is  the  phase  of  unity  that  we  have  in  harmony,  which,  as 
manifested  in  connection  with  a  variety  of  complex  effects, 
produces  the  result  that  is  termed  beauty. — Art  in  Theory y 

XII. 

The  highest  beauty,  in  all  its  different  phases,  results,  as 
is  the  case  in  other  departments  of  excellence,  from  har- 
mony in  effects.  Analyzing  the  elements  of  these  effects, 
carries  with  it  the  additional  conclusion  that,  so  far  as 
beauty  is  physical,  it  results  when  sounds,  shapes,  or  colors 
harmonize  together  and  in  such  ways  that  their  combina- 
tions harmonize  with  the  natural  requirements  of  the 
physical  senses — ears  or  eyes — that  are  addressed;  that, 
so  far  as  beauty  is  psychical,  it  results  when  the  thoughts 
and  feelings  suggested  or  expressed  through  forms  harmonize 
together,  and  also  with  the  natural  requirements  of  the 
mind  addressed;  and  that,  so  far  as  beauty  is  both  physical 
and  psychical,  it  results  when  all  the  elements  entering  into 
both  physical  and  psychical  effects  harmonize  together,  and 
also  with  the  combined  requirements  of  both  the  senses  and 
the  mind.  In  this  latter  case,  it  will  be  observed  that  the 
complete  beauty  which  results  necessitates  something  more 
than  that  which  is  either  formal  or  expressional.  It  can 
be  obtained  in  the  degree  only  in  which  a  form  beautiful 
in  itself  fits  a  beautiful  ideal  conjured  in  the  mind  by  the 
imagination  as  a  result  of  a  harmonious  combination  of 
thoughts  and  feelings.  To  express  all  this  in  language  as 
concise  as  possible,  we  may  say  that  beauty  is  a  char- 
acteristic of  any  complex  form  of  varied  elements  producing 
apprehensible  unity  {i.  e.,  harmony  or  likeness)  of  effects 
upon  the  motive  organs  of  sensation  in  the  ear  or  eye, 
or  upon  the  emotive  sources  of  imagination  in  the  mind; 
or  upon  both  the  one  and  the  other. — Idem,  xiv. 

The  essential  element  of  beauty  is  harmony  resulting  from 
complexity  of  effects,  and  the  greater  the  number  of  the 
effects  upon  the  mind  that  can  be  added  to  effects  upon 
the  senses,  the  greater,  at  times,  is  the  amount  of  the 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  53 

beauty.  A  single  tone  gains  in  beauty,  as  has  been  said, 
when  compounded  of  several  different  partial  tones;  but 
it  is  usually  more  beautiful  when  heard  in  connection  with 
a  melody  or  chord  or  series  of  chords  that  multiply  the 
complexity  many  scores  of  times.  The  tone  is  still  more 
beautiful  when,  in  addition  to  this,  it  resembles,  so  as 
clearly  to  represent,  some  natural  or  conventional  method 
of  expression,  and  therefore  some  effect  of  emotion,  and 
in  connection  with  this  a  combination  of  the  effects  of 
many  different  emotions.  So  with  poems,  pictures,  statues, 
and  buildings;  they  are  all  made  more  beautiful,  the  more 
their  harmony  results  from  effects  of  apparent  complexity 
in  the  form,  and  more  beautiful  still,  the  more,  in  addition 
to  this,  it  results  from  the  mental  effects  of  images  recalled 
in  memory  or  conjured  by  imagination,  as  well  as  of  infinite 
ranges  and  spheres  of  these.  In  fact,  this  increase  of 
beauty  always  continues  up  to  the  point  where  confusion 
begins.  This  is  true  even  of  the  blending  of  effects  from 
different  arts,  as  where  to  those  of  melody  are  added  those 
first  of  harmony,  then  of  poetry,  then  of  acting,  then  of 
dancing,  then  of  painting,  then  of  sculpture,  then  of  archi- 
tecture, till,  finally,  we  have  all  the  components  of  a  Wag- 
nerian opera.  In  all  such  cases,  up  to  the  point  where 
confusion  begins — but  it  must  be  confessed  that  with  some, 
perhaps  with  most  people,  it  begins  long  before  the  list  is 
completed — there  is  an  apprehensible  increase  of  the  dis- 
tinctly aesthetic  influence. — Idem,  xiii. 

BEAUTY,  HUMAN,  ATTRIBUTABLE  TO  BOTH  FORM  AND  SIGNIFI- 
CANCE {see  also  taste,  discrepancies  in). 
As  related  to  the  human  form,  one  must  always  bear  in 
mind  that  its  proportions  are  expressive  of  significance. 
All  the  members,  whether  connected  with  forehead,  eyes, 
ears,  nose,  mouth,  chin,  neck,  shoulders,  arms,  hands, 
waist,  hips,  legs,  calves,  ankles,  feet,  are  adapted  to  some 
purpose;  in  our  minds  they  are  associated  with  this  pur- 
pose; and  seem  beautiful  or  ugly,  on  account,  partly,  of  the 
way  in  which  they  fulfil  it,  and  partly,  of  the  deficiency 
or  superabundance  of  the  characteristics  supposed  to  be 
represented  by  them,  in  case  they  are  relatively  smaller 
or  larger  than  is  usual.  This  is  true  as  applied  to  combina- 
tions, the  beauty  of  which  is  ordinarily  judged  to  be  de- 
pendent  upon    form   solely.      For   instance,   take   those 


54  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

outlines  of  the  countenance  composing  what  are  ordinarily 
described  as  regular  features.  When,  as  in  these,  after 
drawing  vertical  and  horizontal  lines  across  the  face,  the 
corresponding  parts  of  eyebrows,  eyes,  nostrils,  on  the  oppo- 
site sides  of  the  face,  appear  to  be  in  exact  balance,  inas- 
much as  the  whole  is  outlined  by  a  framework  that  is  exactly 
square  or  rectangular,  the  external  arrangement  is  satis- 
factory because  it  seems  representative  of  something  in- 
ternal that  is  satisfactory;  in  other  words,  because  we 
associate  these  physical  conditions  with  correlated  ones 
that  are  mental  and  moral.  Because  the  face  is  square, 
we  judge  that  the  character  is  square.  For  instance, 
Mephistopheles  as  represented  on  the  stage  is  always 
painted  with  the  arch  of  the  eyebrows  not  in  line  with  the 
horizontal,  but  beginning  high  up  on  the  temples  and 
running  downward  toward  the  bridge  of  the  nose.  This 
is  the  way,  too,  in  which  even  a  handsome  man  looks  when 
contracting  his  brows  under  the  influence  of  arrogance, 
pride,  contempt,  hatred,  and,  most  of  all,  of  malice.  With 
a  similar  general  effect  of  irregularity,  a  simpleton  on  the 
stage  is  painted  with  nostrils  and  lips  which  exaggerate 
the  expression  of  the  smile  by  running  too  far  up  the  sides ; 
and  a  scold,  with  the  sides  of  the  same  features  exaggerating 
the  expression  of  the  sneer  and  frown,  by  running  too  far 
down.  Or  if  we  consider  combinations  which  almost 
every  one  admires,  of  a  comparatively  small  ankle  and 
large  calf,  or  of  a  small  wrist  and  large  forearm,  or 
of  a  small  waist  and  broad  shoulders,  or,  in  a  woman, 
broad  hips;  certainly  one  way  of  explaining  the  effects 
of  combinations  of  this  kind  is  to  attribute  them  to 
significance.  Clumsy  joints  at  the  places  where  the  body 
must  bend  suggest  a  lack  of  flexibility,  deftness,  and  grace ; 
and  slender  muscles  at  the  places  where  the  body  must 
exert  itself  suggest  a  lack  of  stability,  strength,  and  persist- 
ence. Therefore,  though  the  curve  connecting  the  ankle 
with  the  calf,  or  the  wrist  with  the  forearm,  or  the  waist 
with  the  breast  or  hips,  is  beautiful,  as  will  be  shown  by- 
and-by,  because  it  fulfils  a  requirement  connecting  together 
with  ease  two  outlines  in  vision,  it  is  beautiful  also  because 
it  fulfils  a  requirement  connecting  together  with  satisfaction 
two  facts  in  thought.  After  all  that  can  be  claimed,  there- 
fore, for  the  effects  of  mere  outlines,  there  remain  certain 
other  requisites  of  beauty  for  which  these  never  can  ac- 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  55 

count.  They  can  be  attributed  to  significance  alone,  under 
which  general  term  we  may  include,  for  reasons  given  in 
Chapter  XV.  of  "  Art  in  Theory,"  all  such  suggestions  as  are 
contained  in  conceptions  like  those  of  adaptability,  fitness, 
association,  symbolism,  sympathy,  and  personality. — Pro- 
portion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color ^  vii. 

BEAUTY,  IN  BOTH  PHYSICAL  AND  MENTAL  EFFECTS. 

There  are  certain  combinations  of  colors  or  sounds,  say  a 
flag  like  that  of  Italy,  or  a  tune  Hke  the  "  Austrian  National 
Hymn,"  the  effects  of  which,  in  every  land,  without  some- 
thing to  interfere  with  the  normal  action  of  the  eye  or  ear, 
are  recognized  to  be  beautiful.  Yet  it  is  possible  that, 
owing  to  certain  associations  of  ideas,  or  to  certain  sugges- 
tions excited  by  their  effects  upon  the  mind,  the  indis- 
putable beauty  both  of  the  flag  and  of  the  tune  may  fail  to 
appeal  to  some.  Did  the  Italian  flag  seem  beautiful  at  the 
time  of  the  unification  of  Italy  to  the  adherents  of  the  Pope? 
or  the  Austrian  hymn  seem  so  to  the  Italians  when  Austria 
was  their  oppressor?  On  the  contrary,  for  exactly  opposite 
reasons,  the  sound  of  a  Scotch  bagpipe  or  the  sight  of  a 
Scotch  plaid,  though  neither  may  fulfil  aesthetic  laws  in  its 
effects  upon  the  physical  organs  of  perception,  excite  in 
the  Scottish  head  and  heart  that  which,  with  his  hand  on 
the  Bible  and  fear  of  eternal  punishment  in  store  for  per- 
jury, the  Scotchman  would  be  willing  to  declare  an  effect 
of  beauty.  Yet  even  he  might  be  willing  to  admit,  too, 
that  certain  other  things  could  be  more  beautiful, — an 
admission  which,  logically  carried  out,  would  lead  to  the 
acknowledgment  that  complete  or  ideal  beauty  is  attained 
only  by  effects,  if  there  be  any,  recognized  to  be  beautiful 
not  only  by  the  senses  irrespective  of  the  quality  of  their 
appeal  to  the  mind,  and  by  the  mind  irrespective  of  the 
quality  of  their  appeal  to  the  senses,  but  also  by  both  the 
senses  and  the  mind;  in  other  words,  when  the  effects 
upon  the  senses  seem  to  fit  those  upon  the  mind  in  such 
ways  that  both  together  seem  to  fit  the  whole  duplex  na- 
ture of  the  man  to  whom  they  are  addressed. — Art  in 
Theory^  xii. 

In  the  first  place,  there  are  forms  made  up  of  complex 
effects  containing  every  element  of  beauty,  so  far  as  con- 
cerns their  appeal  to  the  eye  or  ear,  and  yet  which,  on 
account  of  the  character  of  their  appeal  to  the  mind,  no 


56"  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

delicately  organized  assthetic,  to  say  nothing  of  moral, 
nature  could  declare  to  be,  in  anything  like  a  satisfactory 
or  complete  degree,  beautiful.  Instead  of  this,  their 
beauty  in  any  degree  might  be  denied.  Take  a  scene  of 
debauchery — a  mingling  of  vice  and  nakedness — could 
any  amount  of  faultless  music  or  physique  make  this 
seem  to  a  pure  mind  other  than  disgusting  and  revolting? 
And  could  the  effects  of  beauty  be  fully  experienced,  or 
consciously  experienced  at  all,  in  connection  with  either 
feeling?  Notwithstanding  every  argument  or  example  of 
immoral  art,  there  is  but  one  answer  to  this  question.  Cer- 
tainly they  could  not,  and  why  not?  Because  the  effects 
which  act  together  harmoniously,  so  far  as  concerns  their 
influence  upon  the  ear  or  eye,  are  accompanied  by  other 
effects  produced  through  the  agency  of  the  imagination 
calling  up  forms  from  the  realms  of  recollection,  associa- 
tion, and  suggestion;  and  with  these  latter  effects  those 
from  without  are  discordant. — Idem,  xiii. 

Every  physiologist  admits  that  the  nerves  may  be 
affected  not  only  from  the  sense-side,  but  also  from  the 
mind-side.  A  man  suffers  in  spirits  and  health  not  only 
because  of  influence  exerted  upon  his  body  from  without, 
but  also  because  of  influence  coming  from  his  own  thoughts 
and  emotions.  It  is  a  simple  physiological  fact,  therefore, 
that,  even  though  the  nerves  may  be  agreeably  affected  by 
a  form,  nevertheless  if,  owing  to  a  lack  of  adaptability  or 
fitness,  or  to  a  failure  to  meet  the  mind's  requirements  of 
association,  symbolism,  sympathy,  or  personaHty,  certain 
suggestions  of  the  form  jar  upon  one's  sense  of  congruity  or 
propriety,  or,  as  we  say,  shock  one's  sensibilities,  then  even 
the  physiological  condition  which  is  the  subjective  realiza- 
tion of  the  presence  of  beauty  will  not  ensue. 

The  author  is  aware  that  to  take  this  ground  is  to  meet 
with  the  accusation,  on  account  of  the  one  subject  to 
which  the  principle  is  most  frequently  applied,  that  he  is 
confounding  the  assthetical  with  the  ethical.  But  this 
is  not  so.  It  seems  so  because  the  dictates  of  conscience 
are  more  apt  to  be  the  same  in  all  men  than  those  of  any 
other  part  of  one's  nature,  and  because,  therefore,  that 
which  violates  these  dictates  is  that  which  is  most  likely 
to  appear  distasteful  to  the  largest  number.  But  the 
principle  involved  applies  to  a  vast  range  of  subjects  which 
have  nothing  to  do  with  ethics.     A  picture  untrue  to  the 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  57 

requirements  of  history  also,  or  to  the  scenes  of  a  locaHty, 
might  have  a  correspondingly  distasteful  effect  upon  the 
mind  of  an  historian  or  a  traveller;  might  so  jar  upon  his 
sensibilities  as  to  counterbalance  entirely  any  possible 
degree  of  excellence  in  form  considered  merely  as  form. — 
Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color,  vii. 

BEAUTY  IN  EXPRESSION. 

We  sometimes  find,  as  in  the  pictures  of  early  Christian 
art,  a  degree  of  beauty  which  cannot  be  attributed  to  any 
fulfilment  of  the  laws  of  line  or  color,  such  as  meet  the 
physiological  requirements  of  the  eye.  Yet  often  these 
pictures  are  acknowledged  to  possess  great  charm,  owing 
to  what  is  termed,  notwithstanding  the  implication  of 
some  that  it  does  not  exist,  beauty  of  expression.  What 
is  meant  by  this?  Careful  analysis  will  show  that  it  means 
that  there  are  evidences  in  them  of  a  blending  of  separate 
and  very  widely  different  effects,  only  a  few  of  which  are 
attributable  to  form  as  form.  The  rest  are  attributable 
to  traits  of  character,  which  certain  of  the  depicted  faces 
and  figures  are  supposed  to  manifest.  But  is  not  every  one 
of  these  traits  of  character  conjured  by  the  imagination  of 
the  spectator  and  assigned  to  the  forms  only  so  far  as  they 
have  effects  upon  recollections  of  some  like  form,  or  upon 
associations  with  it,  or  else  as  they  in  some  other  way  sug- 
gest a  significance  which  can  have  its  origin  in  no  place 
except  his  own  mind? — Art  in  Theory,  xiii. 

There  are  forms  the  inharmonious  effects  of  which  upon  the 
senses  render  them  incapable  of  appearing  beautiful,  con- 
sidered merely  as  forms ;  and  yet,  on  account  of  other  accom- 
panying effects  exerted  upon  the  mind,  these  same  forms 
often  manifest,  not  a  little,  but  a  great  degree  of  beauty. 
Recall,  for  instance,  many  a  tone  expressive  of  joy,  admira- 
tion, wonder,  surprise,  as  it  is  uttered  upon  the  stage,  not 
only  in  dramas  that  are  spoken,  but  in  operas  that  are 
sung;  and  yet  such  tones,  having  all  the  scientific  qualities 
of  noise  and  not  of  music,  have  precisely  the  thrilling  and 
inspiring  effects  upon  thought  and  emotion  that  are  ascribed 
to  beauty.  It  is  the  same  with  lines.  The  rigid  straightness 
and  sharp  irregularity  allowed  in  art  because  they  alone  are 
expressive  of  passion,  either  rightly  or  wrongly  impelled,  do 
not  in  themselves  considered,  whether  used  in  dramatic 
representation  or  in  pictures  or  statues,  contain  any  har- 


58  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

monious  elements  such  as  must  appeal  to  the  eye  before 
a  form  can  produce  upon  it  the  physical  effect  of  beauty. 
So  with  colors.  In  connection  with  certain  scenes  or  figures 
the  effects  which  the  mind  attributes  to  beauty  may  often 
be  received  from  forms  depicted  in  hues  that  to  the  eye  alone 
appear  to  be  only  dingy,  mixed,  and  sometimes  positively 
inharmonious. — Idem,  xiii. 

BEAUTY   IN   FORM. 

To  men  generally,  a  fabric  of  a  single  hue  hanging  in  a 
shop-window,  two  or  three  of  different  hues  thrown  acci- 
dentally together,  and  certain  figures,  even  rooms,  on 
account,  sometimes  of  their  colors,  sometimes  of  their 
proportions,  sometimes  of  both,  are  termed,  and  properly 
termed,  beautiful.  When  so  used,  the  word  does  not  refer 
necessarily  to  any  human  thought  or  feeling  that  men  recog- 
nize as  being  suggested  through  them  or  by  them.  All  that 
is  meant  is,  that  certain  colors  and  spaces  have  been  so 
presented  as  to  fulfil  requirements  of  physical  laws  that 
make  them  attractive  or  agreeable  to  the  sense  of  sight. 
Women  are  not  wrong  in  principle,  only  in  their  applica- 
tion of  the  effect  to  a  lower  sense,  when  they  apply  the 
same  word  to  soups  and  pies  agreeable  to  taste. — Idem,  x. 

BEAUTY   IN   SIGNIFICANCE. 

Ordinary  language  recognizes  a  phase  of  beauty  in  mere 
significance,  despite  the  form.  Let  one  come  upon  a  woman 
with  a  deformed  figure  and  homely  countenance,  dressed 
in  most  inharmonious  colors,  and  in  a  most  illy  proportioned 
room;  yet  if  she  be  engaged  in  the  utterance  of  some  noble 
sentiment,  or  in  the  performance  of  some  sublime  act  of 
charity  or  of  self-sacrifice,  the  expression  of  the  motive  in 
her  face  and  frame,  together  with  her  surroundings,  may 
be  so  accordant  with  the  demands  of  his  soul  as  to  trans- 
figure the  mere  forms,  and  prepare  him  to  swear  before  a 
court  of  justice  that  he  has  seen  what  is  beautiful. — Idem,  x. 

BEAUTY   IN   SOUND. 

When  is  a  sound  beautiful  ?  Few  would  think  of  answer- 
ing this  except  by  saying,  when  it  is  a  blending  together, 
in  accordance  with  the  laws  of  harmony,  of  several  sounds, 
as  in  melodies  or  chords,  or  series  of  these, — in  other  words, 
when  the  sound  is  not  simple  but  complex.  But  let  us  be 
accurate  in  this  matter.  Is  it  not  true  that  a  single  sound, 
like  the  solitary,  unvaried  note  of  a  bird  or  of  a  prima  donna, 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  59 

is  sometimes  beautiful?  Certainly  it  is.  But  when  is  it 
beautiful?  Of  course,  when  it  is  musical.  But  when  is  it 
musical?  As  all  physicists  know,  in  the  degree  in  which 
it  is  complex;  and  complex  under  such  conditions  that  all  its 
component  effects  work  together  in  ways  causing  them  to 
fulfil  the  same  laws  of  harmony  that  are  fulfilled  in  chords 
or  series  of  them.  .  .  .  For  instance,  when  a  string  like 
that  of  a  bass  viol  is  struck,  its  note,  if  musical,  is  not  single 
or  simple:  it  is  compound.  Suppose  that  it  produces  the 
tone  of  the  bass  C — representing  a  sound-wave  caused  by 
the  whole  length  of  the  string.  This  C  is  the  main,  or,  as 
it  is  termed,  the  prime  tone  that  we  hear.  But,  at  the  same 
time,  this  same  string  usually  divides  at  the  middle,  pro- 
ducing what  is  called  a  partial  tone  of  the  C  above  the  bass, 
representing  a  sound-wave  caused  by  one  half  the  string's 
length.  It  often  produces,  too,  partial  tones  of  the  G  above 
this,  of  the  C  above  this,  and  of  the  E  above  the  last  C, 
representing  sound-waves  caused,  respectively,  by  one 
third,  one  fourth,   and  one  fifth  of  the  string's  length. 

— Ideniy  XII. 

BEAUTY  IN  THINGS   SEEN. 

When  is  a  line  beautiful  ?  Who,  if  asked  this,  would  not 
answer,  when  it  outlines  a  figure?  And  when  does  it  out- 
line a  figure? — When  it  is  a  combination  of  many  lines  of 
different  directions;  and,  therefore,  when  its  effects  are 
complex.  But  here  again  it  may  be  asked,  is  a  single  line 
never  beautiful?  And  again  we  may  answer,  "certainly." 
But,  if  so,  the  line  is  never  perfectly  straight;  it  is  never 
a  line  having  the  simple  effect  of  only  one  direction.  The 
line  of  beauty  is  a  curve;  in  other  words,  it  has  a  complex 
effect.  Nor  is  it  really  beautiful  even  then,  except  when 
its  different  sections  are  conditioned  and  related  so  as  to 
produce  effects  which,  for  reasons  that  cannot  be  given  here, 
are  recognized  to  be  harmonious.  The  same  is  true  of  colors 
also.  It  is  with  the  harmony  or  contrast  occasioned  by  the 
presence  of  many  of  these  used  together  that  we  ordinarily 
associate  the  idea  of  beauty.  But  yet  a  single  color  may  be 
beautiful.  At  the  same  time,  when  this  is  so,  it  is  owing 
either  to  the  contrast  between  it  and  everything  surround- 
ing it,  or  else  to  harmonious  effects  of  light  and  shade,  as  they 
apparently  play  upon  the  surfaces  of  a  hue,  and  also  subtly 
underlie  it  in  those  exact  subdivisions  of  the  elements  of  light 
and  of  its  absence,  which  determine  what  it  is. — Idem,  xii. 


6o  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

BEAUTY,    ITS   APPEAL  TO   THE   SYMPATHIES. 

On  the  whole,  however,  this  fact  that  men  attribute 
beauty  to  that  which  makes  an  appeal  to  the  sympathies 
has  not  been  sufficiently  emphasized.  Yet  nine  people 
out  of  ten,  especially  among  those  not  educated  in  partic- 
ular schools  of  art,  whose  minds  therefore  act  according 
to  first  principles  rather  than  according  to  derived  ones, 
in  reading  poetry,  in  looking  at  pictures,  or  in  entering 
houses,  judge  of  their  beauty  precisely  as  the  poet  Coleridge 
said  that  he  did  of  the  inspiration  of  the  Bible — namely, 
b}'^  the  feeling  that  it  found  him.  In  this  fact  with  reference 
to  the  influence  of  art,  lies  the  degree  of  truth  that  there  is, 
when  not  made  universally  applicable,  in  the  theory  of 
"association."  We  all  take  delight  in  songs  and  choruses 
like  those  of  which  we  have  pleasant  reminiscences;  in 
passages  of  poetry  that  express  thoughts  or  feelings  like 
those  to  which  we  have  been  led  by  our  own  experiences; 
in  landscapes  like  those  by  which  we  have  been  surrounded 
in  hours  of  pleasure;  in  figures  like  those  which  we  have 
loved  or  should  wish  to  love  could  we  only  find  them;  in 
buildings  like  those  which  we  have  possessed  or  should  like 
to  possess  as  homes.  In  all  these  cases,  with  a  possibility 
of  a  breadth  of  applicability  in  other  directions  not  possible 
to  the  theory  of  association,  as  held  exclusively,  the  principle 
of  ascribing  beauty  to  the  influence  of  like  effects  exerted 
by  the  forms  from  without  and  by  those  conjured  by  the 
imagination  within,  covers  all  the  facts.  But  notice,  too, 
that  among  these  like  effects,  in  cases  where  beauty  emanates 
from  a  work  of  art,  are  included  not  merely  effects  traceable 
to  the  thought,  feelings,  will,  in  short  the  whole  character 
of  the  artist,  all  of  which  have  been  manifested  by  him  in 
his  art-form,  but  also  those  conjured  by  the  imagination 
from  the  thought,  feelings,  will,  in  short  the  whole  character, 
of  the  one  to  whom  the  beauty  appeals. — Ideniy  xv. 

BEAUTY    OCCASIONED    FROM    WITHOUT    AND    FROM    WITHIN. 

Going  back  to  what  was  said  of  the  play-impulse  or  the 
art-impulse,  which  is  distinctively  manifested,  as  explained 
there,  in  an  excess  of  psychical  or  spiritual  life,  let  us  observe 
more  carefully  than  was  then  done  the  sources  of  the  mani- 
festations of  this  excess,  which,  of  course,  will  be  the  same 
thing  as  to  trace  the  sources  of  beauty;  for  it  is  in  beauty 
that  the  manifestations  culminate.     Where,  then,  are  the 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  6i 

sources  of  this?  Are  they  wholly  in  the  mind,  the  soul, 
the  spiritual  being  of  the  subject  of  it  ?  If  so,  why  does  the 
impulse  characteristically  express  itself,  as  shown  on  page 
73,  in  imitation?  It  certainly  would  not  do  this  were  it 
not  under  the  influence  of  natural  appearances  that  could 
be  imitated.  Yet  again,  would  any  number  of  natural 
appearances  that  could  be  imitated  account  for  the  excess 
of  vitality  carrying  on  the  imitation  ?  Must  not  this  vital- 
ity come  from  within?  It  certainly  seems  so.  Yet  if  it 
be  so  indeed,  we  have  clearly  indicated  effects  both  from 
without  and  from  within. — Ideniy  xv. 

BEAUTY  PSYCHOLOGICALLY  CONSIDERED  {see  HARMONY). 

[Comments  on  the  cesthetic  theory  that  ''the  sense  of  leauty 
is  an  emotional  state  arising  from  progressive  psycho-physical 
accommodation  to  mental  objects.'"]  In  nature,  opposing 
effects,  like  differently  produced  waves  on  a  pool,  can  often 
be  seen  to  assimilate;  and  we  have  a  certain  interest  in 
watching  the  result.  So  w4th  the  sense  of  accommodation, 
the  one  to  the  other,  and,  by  consequence,  of  progressive 
identity  of  the  different  stages  of  logical  processes.  But 
notice  that  in  these  it  is  necessary  only  that  two  or  more 
very  nearly  connected  conceptions  should  assimilate,  where- 
as in  beauty — as  will  be  recognized  upon  recalling  the  con- 
ditions underlying  rhythm,  versification,  musical  harmony, 
proportion,  collected  outlines  of  columns,  arches,  windows, 
roofs,  even  the  tones  of  a  single  scale  or  the  colors  of  a  single 
painting, — it  is  necessary  that  whole  series  and  accumula- 
tions of  effects  should  assimilate;  that,  so  far  as  possible, 
everything  presented  should  seem  to  be  the  result  of  putting 
like  effects  (not  necessarily  like  forms — see  page  153)  with 
like.  This  requirement  of  beauty  appears  to  be  met  by 
saying  that,  in  it,  the  amount  of  assimilation  is  increased, — 
that  it  results  in  the  degree  in  which  the  processes  to  which 
attention  ministers  all  tend  together  to  give  this  sense  of 
accommodation.  But  even  this  statement  seems  insuf- 
ficient. In  the  degree  in  which  pleasure  of  any  kind  what- 
ever predominates,  the  consciousness  of  opposing  effects 
must  be  subordinated  to  that  of  assimilation.  Distinctly 
aesthetic  pleasures  differ  from  those  afforded  by  logical 
connection,  or  by  mere  sensational  ease  or  assimilation  not 
only  in  the  relative  amount  of  likeness  in  them,  but  also 
in  the  relative  comprehensiveness  of  this.     There  may  be 


62  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

physical  pleasure  in  which  there  is  little  or  no  complexity 
and  therefore  no  assimilation  between  effects  from  sources 
essentially  different,  such,  for  instance,  as  those  that  appeal 
to  the  senses  and  those  that  appeal  to  the  mind;  and  the 
same  is  true  of  mental  pleasure;  and  in  both  forms  of 
pleasure,  because  of  greater  narrowness  of  excitation,  there 
may  be  more  intensity — ^more,  that  is,  which  induces  to 
thrill  and  rapture,  tears  and  laughter — than  in  esthetic 
pleasure.  A  person  is  more  apt  to  become  hilarious  when 
being  tickled  or  when  hearing  good  news  from  the  stock 
market,  than  when  reading  Shakespeare.  But  the  peculi- 
arity of  aesthetic  pleasures  is  that  while  they  lose  in  intensity 
they  gain,  as  a  rule,  in  breadth.  The  latter  effect  follows 
not  only  from  the  relative  amount  of  likeness  in  them;  but 
still  more  from  the  range  and  different  qualities  of  the  sources 
of  this.  In  their  most  complete  phases,  as  has  been  shown, 
aesthetic  pleasures  blend  the  results  of  that  which  is  most 
important  in  both  physical  and  mental  stimulus,  widening 
one's  outlook  and  sympathies  especially  in  the  direction — 
for  this  is  distinctive  in  them — of  enabling  imagination  to 
perceive  subtle  correspondences  between  things  material 
and  spiritual  which  otherwise  might  not  reveal  their  essen- 
tial unity.  The  fact  is,  as  pointed  out  on  page  i6o,  that 
the  effects  of  beauty  are  satisfactory  in  the  degree  in  which 
they  are  felt  to  accord  with  every  possible  influence  exerted 
at  the  time  when  they  are  experienced.  It  is  not  too  much 
to  say  that  so  far  as  they  result  from  vibrations,  or  in  con- 
nection with  vibrations,  some  of  these  are  beyond  the 
circumference  of  conscious  experience;  but  all  of  them, 
nevertheless,  like  the  minutest  and  most  distant  waves 
upon  a  pool,  moved  as  in  our  first  illustration,  seem  at  the 
time  to  be  proportional  parts  of  a  universal  rhythm.  Often, 
in  fact,  they  seem  to  be,  and  possibly,  to  an  extent,  they 
always  are,  parts  of  that  larger  rhythm  which,  coming  down 
through  life  and  death,  winter  and  summer,  waking  and 
sleeping,  inhalation  and  exhalation,  pulse-throb  and  stillness, 
extend  back  through  the  alternating  effects  of  metre  and 
proportion,  tone  and  hue,  to  others  of  a  nature  almost 
infinitely  subtle,  but  which  are  just  as  necessary  to  the  life 
of  the  spirit  as  the  beat  of  the  heart  to  that  of  the  bod}^ 
To  this  conception  of  beauty  the  idea  of  sensational  ease  or 
assimilation  is  necessary  as  an  accompanying  effect ;  but  it  is 
a  question  whether,  considered  even  as  a  point  of  departure 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  63 

for  development,  it  is  inclusive  of  all  that  is  in  the  germ,  or 
of  that  part  of  it  which  most  clearly  reveals  the  originating 
cause.  One  could  not  be  conscious  of  the  thrills  of  pleasure 
connected  with  doing  a  deed  of  disinterested  kindness,  were 
it  not  for  unimpeded  processes  in  the  circulatory  systems  of 
his  physical  organism.  But  these  do  not  account  for  all 
the  effects  entering  into  such  an  experience  or  possible  to  it, 
even  if,  as  at  times  in  the  presence  of  beauty,  it  awaken  a 
sense  of  nothing  not  distinctly  physical.  A  cause  to  be 
satisfying  must  be  capable  of  accounting  for  all  the  facts. 
Can  this  be  affirmed  of  the  processes  that  have  been  men- 
tioned? Are  they  not  rather  effects  accompanying  others 
which,  in  connection  with  these,  are  attributable  to  some- 
thing deeper  in  essence  and  more  comprehensive  in  applica- 
bility?— Art  in  Theory,  Appendix  i. 

BEAUTY    RECOGNIZED    BY    ITS    EFFECTS    ON    THE    MIND. 

So  far  as  can  be  ascertained,  the  aesthetic  quality  of  a 
single  tone  or  color,  as  also  the  concord  caused  by  the  blend- 
ing of  it  with  others,  is  recognized  to  be  what  it  is  by  the 
physical  senses  irrespective  of  the  conscious  action  of  the 
mind.  Only  the  analysis  of  science  has  been  able  to  detect 
the  way  in  which,  in  such  cases,  the  effects  are  made  to 
harmonize.  But  can  the  same  be  affirmed  of  all  the  effects 
of  beauty  ?  Can  it  even  be  affirmed  of  all  of  them  that  are 
indisputably  connected  with  form  as  form?  How  is  it  with 
the  beauty  of  effects  undoubtedly  imparted  through  rhythm 
and  proportion?  These,  certainly,  though  apprehended 
through  the  physical  senses,  are  recognized  only  in  connection 
with  the  conscious  action  of  the  mind.  It  is  because  we 
can  consciously  count  the  beats  and  accents  in  music  and 
poetry,  as  well  as  compute  the  distances  between  straight 
lines  and  curves  in  painting  and  architecture,  that  we  detect 
those  results  in  them  of  exact  measurements  in  time  or 
space  which  make  them  what  they  are.  But  if  it  be  true 
that  certain  characteristics  of  art  which  are  determined  only 
by  form  demand  action  on  the  part  both  of  the  senses 
irrespective  of  the  mind  and  of  the  mind  also,  how  much 
more  true  must  this  appear  when  we  consider  that  in  all 
cases,  as  shown  in  Chapter  VI.,  this  form  is,  in  some  sense 
at  least,  a  form  of  expression;  and  therefore  a  form  of  some- 
thing that  in  any  circumstances  must,  in  some  way,  appeal 
to  the  mind. — Art  in  Theory,  xii. 


64  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

The  very  complexity  and  unity  that  have  been  shown  to 
be  essential  to  beauty  of  form  can  be  recognized  by  only 
the  exercise  of  distinctively  mental  analysis.  Indeed,  the 
range  of  the  appreciation  of  beauty  is  invariably  limited  by 
the  abiUty  of  the  mind  to  make  this  analysis.  If  musical 
tones  be  made  to  follow  one  another  too  rapidly  for  the  mind 
to  distinguish  the  differences  between  them,  the  result  is 
not  rhythm  or  melody,  but  noise;  or  if  a  round  disk  with 
harmonious  colors  near  its  rim  be  made  to  revolve  too 
rapidly  for  the  mind  to  distinguish  them,  the  whole  produces 
only  the  effect  of  a  mixed  color  usually  of  a  dingy  and 
thoroughly  non-beautiful  white.  A  similar  result  is  pro- 
duced in  poetry  by  metaphors  or  similes,  the  different 
effects  of  which  are  so  complicated  as  to  appear  mixed,  as 
well  as  by  hues,  outlines,  or  carvings  of  a  similarly  confused 
nature  in  pictures,  statues,  or  buildings. 

— The  Essentials  oj  /Esthetics y  il. 

Now  the  question  comes.  Are  all  the  effects  entering 
harmoniously  into  that  complex  result  which  constitutes 
beauty  traceable  to  such  as  influence  merely  the  physical 
organs  of  the  ear  or  eye?  In  answer  to  this  it  may  be 
stated,  first,  that  it  has  been  discovered  that  not  only  do 
the  nerves  of  the  ear  and  eye  vibrate  as  affected  by  sound 
and  sight,  and  communicate  to  the  brain  intelligence  of 
particular  degrees  of  pitch  and  hue  as  determined  by  the 
rates  and  sizes  of  the  vibratory  waves,  but  that  in  addi- 
tion to  these  the  nerves,  as  well,  that  constitute  the  sub- 
stance of  the  brain  vibrate  and  thus  give  rise  to  thoughts 
and  feelings;  and,  not  only  so,  but  that  the  vibrations  of 
the  nerves  in  particular  parts  of  the  brain  give  rise  to 
thoughts  and  feelings  of  a  particular  character;  such,  for 
instance,  as  those  connected  with  particular  exercises  of 
memory  in  recalling  general  events  or  specific  terms. 
These  facts  have  been  ascertained  through  various  ob- 
servations and  experiments  in  connection  with  the  loss  or 
removal  of  certain  parts  of  the  brains  of  men  or  of  animals, 
or  with  the  application  of  electricity  to  certain  systems  of 
nerves  accidentally  or  artificially  exposed  or  else  naturally 
accessible.  Of  course,  such  discoveries  tend  to  the  infer- 
ence that  all  conscious  mental  experience^  whatsoever, 
precisely  as  in  the  case  of  sensations  excited  in  the  organs 
of  the  ear  and  eye,  are  effects  of  vibrations  produced  in 
the  nerves  of  the  brain.     If  this  inference  be  justified, 


Kaffir  Station,  Africa 
See  pages  lo,  ii,  38,  73,  81-85,  88,  147,  148,  162,  208,  227,  326 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  65 

the  line  of  thought  that  we  have  been  pursuing  apparently 
justifies  the  additional  inference  that  all  conscious  mental 
experiences  of  the  beautiful  are  effects  of  harmonious 
vibrations  produced  in  the  nerves  of  the  brain. — Ideniy  11. 

BEAUTY  THE  EMBODIMENT  OF  CREATIVE  THOUGHT. 

The  aspiration  and  the  aim  of  art 
That  will  not  bide  contented  till  the  law  I 
Of  thought  shall  supersede  the  law  of  things, 
And  that  which  in  the  midnight  of  this  world 
Is  but  a  dream  shall  be  fulfilled  in  days 
Where  there  is  no  more  matter,  only  mind, 
And  beauty,  born  of  free  imagination. 
Shall  wait  but  on  the  sovereignty  of  spirit. 
— West  Mountain,  from  *'  The  Mountains  about  Williams- 
town.'' 

BEAUTY  WHEN   COMPLETE. 

It  does  not  seem  to  be  true,  therefore,  that  beauty  can 
be  referred  merely  to  form,  or  merely  to  significance,  or 
merely  to  both  together.  To  cover  all  the  facts  indicated 
by,  at  least,  the  ordinary  use  of  the  term,  we  must  acknowl- 
edge that  all  these  theories  contain  some  truth;  and,  at  the 
same  time,  that  beauty  is  complete  alone  in  the  degree  in 
which  beauty  of  form  and  of  significance  are  combined. 

— Art  in  Theory,  x. 

BRILLIANT  WRITTEN   STYLES,  BRIGHT   AND   CLEAR. 

This  is  a  method  of  writing  not  uncommon  in  our  day, 
and  it  is  called  brilliant.  But  no  style  is  really  brilliant  the 
figures  and  ideas  of  which  do  not  stand  out  in  bright  light 
and  clear  relief;  and  few  writers  of  the  first  class,  not- 
withstanding the  example  of  Carlyle,  and,  to  some  extent, 
of  Emerson,  obscure  their  thought  by  an  endeavor  to  render 
it  poetically  representative.  We  have  found  how  true  this 
is  as  applied  to  the  poetry  of  the  best  writers;  it  is  equally 
true  as  applied  to  their  prose.  The  fact  is  that  a  man  who 
knows  best  what  poetry  is,  knows  best  what  poetry  is  not; 
and  when  he  tries  to  write  prose  he  gives  men  the  benefit 
of  his  knowledge.  Nothing,  indeed,  can  be  more  simple 
and  direct  than  the  prose  of  Shakespeare,  Coleridge,  Goethe, 
Wordsworth,  and  Byron.  A  man  judging  from  it  might  sup- 
pose that  these  writers,  as  compared  with  men  like  Professor 
Wilson,  Hartley  Coleridge,  and  Carlyle,  had  but  little  rep- 
resentative ability. — Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art,  xxv. 


66  AN  ART^PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

CHARACTER   (see  mention  of  it  under  architecture,  per- 
sonality, REPRESENTATION,  and  REPRESENTATIVE). 
CLASSIC   VS.    ROMANTIC. 

Centuries  ago,  people  who  spoke  one  of  the  two  languages, 
Greek  or  Latin,  the  degrees  of  proficiency  in  which  even  in 
our  own  colleges  indicate  the  class  to  which  a  student  belongs, 
and  which  everywhere  since  the  revival  of  learning  have 
been  termed,  because  the  literature  composed  in  them  is 
supposed  to  belong  to  the  highest  class,  the  classic  languages, 
— these  people  produced  certain  works  of  art,  noticeably  in 
poetry,  sculpture,  and  architecture,  that  are  still  considered 
to  equal,  if  not  to  excel,  anything  produced  in  modern 
times.  For  almost  a  thousand  years,  during  the  Middle 
Ages,  this  art  was  scarcely  known,  little  appreciated,  and 
seldom  imitated.  In  the  meantime,  however,  an  artistic 
development  manifested  itself  among  the  different  Roman- 
esque or  Romantic  nations,  as  they  are  termed,  i.  e.,  na- 
tions both  Latin  and  Gothic,  formed  from  the  fragments  of 
the  former  Roman  Empire.  In  architecture  this  develop- 
ment culminated  in  the  style  termed  Gothic.  In  sculpture, 
years  before  the  revival  of  learning,  it  produced  statues  and 
busts  like  those  in  Wells  and  Lincoln  cathedrals,  which  in 
form  are  wellnigh  perfect.  In  music  and  poetry  it  brought 
forth  the  songs  of  the  troubadours  and  the  minnesingers,  and 
also  the  early  rhyming  chronicles  and  ballads.  It  gave  rise, 
too,  to  the  ''mystery  plays"  and  the  "moralities, "  and  was 
the  mainspring  of  the  English  drama. 

About  the  fifteenth  century,  however,  owing  partly  to 
the  wars  in  the  Orient  and  the  attendant  renewal  of  com- 
mercial intercourse  with  the  East,  partly  to  the  fall  of 
Constantinople  and  the  consequent  dispersion  of  Greek 
scholars  through  Europe,  and  partly  to  that  general  revival 
of  interest  in  intellectual  pursuits  that  soon  afterward  led 
to  the  Reformation,  the  older  classic  languages  and  art 
began  to  attract  attention.  The  matured  results,  as  they 
were,  of  a  matured  civilization,  they  could  not  but  have  a 
moulding  influence  upon  the  theory  and  practice  of  Western 
art  with  which  they  were  now  brought  into  contact. 

Whatever  increases  intelligence  tends  to  increase  intel- 
lectual power,  and  the  influence  of  schoolmen  learned  in 
the  classics  was  at  first  only  beneficial.  Nearly  all  modern 
literature  in  every  country  of  Europe  dates  from  the  Ren- 
aissance.    Painting  and  sculptiure  attained,  at  that  time, 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  67 

an  almost  unprecedented  degree  of  excellence ;  and  the  style 
of  building  originated  by  Brunelleschi,  Bramante,  and 
Alberti  in  Italy  was  based  upon  principles  that  still  underlie 
the  most  successful  street  architecture  for  large  cities,  and 
which,  artistically  developed,  might  have  led  then,  and 
might  still  lead,  to  results  equalling  anything  termed  Grecian 
or  Gothic. 

But  increased  intelligence  tends  to  increase  not  only 
intellectual  activity  but  also  pedantry.  The  artistic  ex- 
pression of  pedantry  is  imitation.  As  soon  as  that  which 
was  classic  became  fashionable,  artists  began  to  forget  to 
embody  their  thoughts  and  feelings  in  what  they  produced. 
They  paid  attention  to  forms  alone;  even  then  to  forms 
as  they  could  be  found,  not  in  nature,  but  in  celebrated 
works  of  art.  With  these  for  their  models,  and  being 
artisans  rather  than  artists,  they  attained  the  highest 
object  of  their  ambition  in  the  degree  in  which  they  attained 
success  in  copying.  Their  copying,  moreover,  necessarily 
extended,  after  a  little,  beyond  the  forms  to  the  ideas  ex- 
pressed in  them.  The  subjects  of  art  came  to  be  not  modern 
nor  even  Christian,  but  ancient  and  mythologic.  For 
these  reasons,  the  production  of  something  that  imitates 
a  previously  existing  form  or  subject  is  now  one  of  the 
recognized  meanings  of  the  term  classic.  When  the  word 
was  used  first,  Greece  and  Rome  supplied  the  only  classic 
products.  Now  any  works  of  any  nation  are  so  called  as 
soon  as  they  have  become  admired  sufficiently  to  be  used 
as  models.  .  .  . 

The  classic  tendency  being  that  which  inclines  the  artist 
to  imitate  forms  and  subjects  of  the  past,  the  romantic  has 
come  to  mean  just  the  opposite, — namely,  that  which  allows 
the  form  to  be  determined  solely  by  the  exigencies  of  expres- 
sion and  the  expression  solely  by  the  exigencies  of  the  period. 
In  fact,  it  is  hardly  right  to  say  that  this  latter  tendency  has 
come  to  mean  this, — it  has  always  meant  this.  The 
mediaeval  pictures  were  poorly  drawn.  Their  forms,  as 
forms,  were  exceedingly  defective.  Yet  they  were  fully 
successful  in  expressing  exactly  the  religious  ideas  of  the 
time.  Similar  conditions  underlay  also,  as  first  developed, 
mediaeval  music,  poetry,  and  sculpture. 

This  being  so,  it  is  evident  that  romanticism,  if  mani- 
fested to  the  total  exclusion  of  classicism,  cannot  lead  to 
the  best  results.     The  same  fact  is  still  more  evident  when 


68  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

we  consider  that  the  forms  and  themes  of  all  art  of  the 
highest  character,  whenever  and  wherever  it  appears,  are 
developed  upon  lines  of  previously  developed  excellence; 
and  that  to  model  after  others,  even  in  a  slight  degree,  is 
to  manifest  something  of  the  classic  tendency. — Art  in 
Theory,  iii. 

"The  Independent"  first  refers  to  the  "astounding  mis- 
apprehension" of  this  view,  and  then  goes  on  to  say, — 
"We  cannot  at  all  admit  that  .  .  .  'the  production  of 
something  that  imitates  a  previously  existing  form  or 
subject  is  now  one  of  the  recognized  meanings  of  the  term 
classic.'"  Why  can  he  not  admit  this?  Can  it  be  that 
he  is  unaware  that,  at  the  present  day,  which  is  what 
is  meant  by  the  word  now,  men,  when  they  speak  of  a 
modern  artist  as  producing  a  classic  face,  or  temple,  or 
drama,  or  allusion  in  a  drama,  invariably  suggest  a  like- 
ness in  it  either  to  a  Greek  face,  or  temple,  or  drama,  or 
allusion  containing  Greek  mythological  references?  or 
else,  if  not,  at  least  a  likeness  to  some  form  which,  as  a  form, 
is  sufficiently  old  to  have  a  recognized  character?  And 
does  he  not  know  that  the  reason  for  this  suggestion  is 
that  "one  of  the  recognized  meanings" — not  the  only 
meaning  mentioned  in  "Art  in  Theory, "  but  one  mentioned 
in  its  historic  connections — "of  the  term  classic  is  the  pro- 
duction of  something  that  imitates  a  previously  existing 
form  or  subject"?  One  would  think  that  everybody  ought 
to  know  this.  "Les  classiques,"  says  a  French  criticism 
lying  before  me  now,  "les  classiques  c'est-a-dire  ceux  qui 
perpetuent  une  manihre. "  But  this  reviewer  does  not  know 
it.  However,  he  probably  fancies  himself  in  good  company 
— ^for  America.  An  earlier  critic  in  "The  Nation, "  quoting 
from  "Art  in  Theory"  the  statement  that  "the  germ  of 
classicism  is  the  conception  that  art  should  chiefly  emphasize 
the  form,"  and  of  romanticism  that  "the  ideas  expressed 
in  the  form  should  be  chiefly  emphasized,"  had  exclaimed: 
"  Sound  not  sense  was  certainly  never  a  motto  of  classical 
literature."  And  who  had  said  that  it  was?  Does  the 
carefully  worded  phrase  "chiefly  emphasize"  mean  "exclu- 
sively emphasize"?  Or  does  the  term  "sound"  include  all 
that  is  meant  by  "form"?  When  we  speak  of  dramatic 
"form"  do  we  often  even  suggest  the  idea  of  "sound"? 
What  we  mean  then  is  the  general  method  of  unfolding 
the  plot  as  a  whole.     This  attempted  refutation  reveals, 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  69 

once  more,  that  lack  of  philosophic  discrimination  to  which 
reference  has  been  made.  But  connected  with  it,  there  is  a 
still  greater  lack  of  historic  knowledge.  Who  has  never 
heard  of  the  famous  theatrical  contest  between  the  classi- 
cists and  romanticists  in  Paris,  which  once  almost  made  a 
Bedlam  of  the  whole  city,  because  Victor  Hugo,  the  idol 
of  romanticism,  did  not  model  his  dramas  upon  those  of 
his  predecessors,  which,  in  turn,  were  modelled  upon  those 
of  the  Greeks?  What  was  Hugo  contending  for?  For  the 
right  to  emphasize  chiefly  the  ideas  behind  the  form — to 
speak  out  naturally  upon  a  modern  subject,  with  a  style  to 
fit  it,  whether  it  assumed  a  conventional  form,  or  one  that 
nobody  before  had  ever  attempted.  But  no,  says  one  of 
these  critics:  ** Classicism  and  Romanticism  are  tempers 
of  mind."  ''They  owe  their  origin,"  says  the  other,  **to 
a  difference  in  mental  constitutions. "  Of  course,  there  is  a 
truth  in  this.  By  nature  men  are  inclined  toward  the 
one  or  the  other.  But  one  might  say  the  same  of  almost 
any  different  phases  of  mental  action.  He  might  say  it 
of  the  tendencies  to  intemperance  or  gambling.  But 
would  his  saying  this  explain  what  either  of  these  is? 
Certainly  not;  for  only  when  the  tendencies  come  to  the 
surface  and  reveal  themselves  in  a  form  of  action,  do  they 
exist  in  such  a  way  that  they  can  be  differentiated.  The 
same  is  true  of  classicism  and  romanticism.  They  cannot 
be  differentiated  till  developed  into  a  form  of  expression. 
The  questions  before  us  are,  what  is  this  form,  and  what  is 
there  in  it,  as  a  form,  that  makes  it  what  it  is?  To  speak 
of  differences  in  ** tempers  of  mind"  or  of  ''mental  constitu- 
tion,"  is  to  mention  something  influential  in  causing  a 
difference  to  be.  But  it  is  no  more  influential  than  is  the 
spirit  of  the  age,  or  the  conditions  of  taste,  or  environment, 
or  education;  and  it  fails  to  suggest,  as  even  some  of  these 
latter  do,  why  it  is  that,  in  certain  periods,  all  authors  and 
artists  incline  to  classicism,  and  in  other  periods  all  of  them 
incline  to  romanticism;  while,  now  and  then,  the  same 
man  seems  almost  equally  inclined  to  both.  Goethe's 
*' Leiden  des  jungen  Werther's,"  for  instance,  and  his 
**Goetz  von  Berlichingen "  are  specimens  of  distinctively 
romantic  literature;  whereas  his  "Iphigenie  auf  Tauris" 
is,  perhaps,  the  most  successful  modem  example  of  classic 
literature.  At  what  period  between  writing  the  first  two 
and  the  latter  of  these  was  his  "temper  of  mind,"  his 


70  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

"mental  constitution"  changed?  Is  it  not  a  little  more 
rational  to  say  that  what  was  changed  was  his  artistic 
method? — possibly,  his  theory  of  this? — that  in  the  first 
two  he  "chiefly  emphasized"  the  "significance,"  and  in 
the  last,  "the  form,"  causing  it  to  be — what  he  did  not 
take  pains  to  cause  the  others  to  be — "something  imitating 
a  previously  existing"  Greek  "form"  not  only,  but,  in  this 
case,  a  Greek  "subject"  also? 

On  the  contrary,  says  one  of  these  critics,  elaborating  his 
theory  about  "tempers  of  mind, "  "classicism  is  reasonable, 
logical,  and  constructive,  while  romanticism  is  emotional 
and  sensuous";  and  the  other  echoes  his  sentiments  with 
something  about  "the  eternal  distinction  between  the  intel- 
lectual and  the  emotional."  And  so  one  is  to  believe  that 
the  distinguishing  feature  of  classic  Greek  sculpture — like 
a  "  Venus, "  a  "Faun, "  or  a  "Group  of  the  Niobe, " — or  of  a 
classic  Greek  drama,  like  the  "Antigone,"  is,  that  it  is  not 
sensuous  or  emotional;  and  that  the  distinguishing  feature 
of  the  plays  of  Shakespeare  or  Hugo,  or  of  a  Gothic  cathe- 
dral, is  that  they  are  not  reasonable  or  logical  or  construc- 
tive !  Of  course,  there  is  a  cause  underlying  the  distinctions 
that  these  critics  are  trying  to  make.  It  is  suggested  too 
in  "Art  in  Theory."  On  page  25,  the  statement  is  made 
that  one  characteristic  of  romantic  art  is  that  in  it  the 
form  is  "determined  solely  by  the  exigencies  of  expres- 
sion," and  on  page  17,  at  the  beginning  of  the  chapter  in 
which  this  statement  occurs,  as  well  as  in  scores  of  other 
places  in  the  book,  it  is  explained  that  by  the  term  expression 
is  meant  a  communication  of  thought  and  feeling  combined. 
Without  any  explanation  indeed,  this  meaning  would  be  a 
necessary  inference  from  the  fundamental  conception  of  the 
book,  which  is  that  all  art  is  emotional  in  its  sources,  and 
that  art-ideas  are  the  manifestations  of  emotion  in  con- 
sciousness (Chapters  V.,  XVIII.,  and  XIX.).  It  follows 
from  all  these  facts  together  that  emotion — but  not  without 
its  accompanying  thought,  which,  sometimes,  as  with 
Browning,  throws  the  emotion  entirely  into  the  shade — has 
a  more  unrestricted  expression  in  romantic  art  than  in  classic 
art.  In  the  latter  the  form  is  "chiefly  emphasized,"  and 
therefore  there  is  a  more  conscious,  as  well  as  apparent 
exercise  of  rational  intelligence  engaged  in  constructing  a 
form  for  it,  and  in  confining  the  expression  to  the  limits  of 
this  form.     But  we  must  not  confound  the  effects  of  this 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  71 

difference  with  that  which  causes  them.  This  is  the  method 
of  the  artist  when  producing  his  art-work,  a  method  influ- 
enced by  the  relative  attention  which  he  gives,  either  con- 
sciously or  unconsciously,  to  the  requirements  of  significance 
or  of  form.  It  is  important  to  recognize  this  fact,  too, 
because,  otherwise,  we  should  not  recognize  that  he  is  the 
master  of  his  methods,  and,  if  he  choose,  can  produce  in 
both  styles,  though,  of  course,  not  with  equal  pleasure, 
because  he  must  have  his  preferences;  nor  with  equal 
facility,  because  it  is  a  matter  of  a  lifetime  to  produce  suc- 
cessfully in  either.  To  suppose  that  his  methods  master 
him,  is  to  show  a  lack  of  insight,  with  reference  to  the  prac- 
tice of  art,  still  greater  than  that  just  indicated  with 
reference  to  the  theory  of  it.  Goethe  could  write  *  *  Iphigenie 
auf  Tauris"  or  the  **  Leiden  des  jungen  Werther's."  So, 
too,  the  same  painter  can  "chiefly  emphasize"  form  in  his 
figures  by  using  the  distinct  "classic"  line,  as  it  is  termed; 
or,  if  he  have  been  educated  in  another  school,  often  merely 
if  he  choose,  he  can  suggest  the  form  with  the  vague  outlines 
of  the  romantic  impressionists;  and  the  same  architect  also 
can  plan  a  classic  Girard  college,  or  a  romantic  seaside 
cottage.  To  imagine  otherwise,  is  to  parallel  the  notion  of 
a  schoolboy  that  the  poet  tears  his  hair,  rolls  his  eyes,  raves 
in  the  lines  of  a  lyric  rather  than  of  a  drama,  and  makes  a 
general  fool  of  himself  by  a  complete  lack  of  self-control 
whenever  he  is  composing  at  all,  simply  because  he  is  "bom 
and  not  made." 

That  this  inference  with  reference  to  the  error  as  to 
artistic  methods  is  justified,  is  proved  by  the  inability  of 
critics  of  this  class  to  recognize  the  necessity  of  making 
any  distinction  whatever  between  significance  in  form — not 
outside  of  form — and  form  as  developed  for  its  own  sake, 
concerning  which  the  reader  may  notice  what  is  said  in  the 
Introduction  to  "Music  as  a  Representative  Art." — 
Rhythm  and  Harmony  in  Poetry  and  Music,  Preface. 

CLASSIFICATION,  AS  THE  SOURCE  OF  ART-COMPOSITION. 

Men  generally — and  possibly  we  may  find  the  same  true 
of  artists — before  they  can  master  the  materials  about  them, 
must  do  what  is  expressed  in  the  old  saying,  "Classify  and 
conquer. "  When  the  child  first  observes  the  world,  every- 
thing is  a  maze;  but,  anon,  out  of  this  maze,  objects 
emerge  which  he  contrasts  with  other  objects  and  distin- 


72  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

guishes  from  them.  After  a  little,  he  sees  that  two  or  three 
of  these  ot:)jects,  thus  distinguished,  are  alike;  and  pursuing 
a  process  of  comparison  he  is  able,  by  himself  or  with  the 
help  of  others,  to  unite  and  to  classify  them,  and  to  give  to 
each  class  a  name.  .  .  .  All  his  knowledge,  and  not  only 
this,  but  his  understanding  and  application  of  the  laws  of 
botany,  mineralogy,  psychology,  or  theology  will  depend  on 
the  degree  in  which  he  learns  to  separate  from  others,  and 
thus  to  unite  and  classify  and  name  certain  plants,  rocks, 
mental  activities,  or  religious  dogmas.  Why  should  not  the 
same  principle  apply  in  the  arts?  It  undoubtedly  does. 
.  .  .  The  factors  classified  and  the  results  attained  in 
science,  philosophy,  and  art  are  different;  but  in  essential 
regards,  the  method  is  the  same.  It  is  so  because  it  is  the 
same  human  mind  that  applies  it. — The  Genesis  of  Art- 
Form,  I. 

Just  as  the  physicist  classifies  effects  conditioned  upon 
laws  operating  underneath  phenomena  of  a  physical  nature, 
and  the  psychologist  classifies  effects  conditioned  upon  laws 
operating  underneath  phenomena  of  a  psychical  nature,  so 
the  artist  classifies  effects  conditioned  upon  laws  operating 
underneath  phenomena  of  an  artistic  nature.   .    .    . 

So  far  as  classification  results  from  the  conditions  of  mind, 
its  function  is  to  simplify  the  work  of  forming  concepts, 
and  its  end  is  attained  in  the  degree  in  which  it  enables 
one  to  conceive  of  many  different  things — birds  or  beasts, 
larks  or  geese,  dogs  or  sheep,  as  the  case  may  be — as  one. 
Classification  is,  therefore,  an  effort  in  the  direction  of  unity. 
It  is  hardly  necessary  to  add  that  the  same  is  true  of  art- 
composition.  Its  object  is  to  unite  many  different  features 
in  a  single  form.  Unity  being  the  aim  of  classification,  it 
is  evident  that  the  most  natural  way  of  attaining  this  aim 
is  that  of  putting,  so  far  as  possible,  like  with  like;  and  that 
doing  this  necessitates  a  process  of  comparison.  Applying 
this  principle  to  art-composition,  and  looking,  first,  at  music, 
we  find  that  the  chief  characteristic  of  its  form  is  a  series  of 
phrases  of  like  lengths,  divided  into  like  numbers  of  meas- 
ures, all  sounded  in  like  time,  through  the  use  of  notes  that 
move  upward  or  downward  in  the  scale  at  like  intervals, 
with  like  recurrences  of  melody  and  harmony.  So  with 
poetry.  The  chief  characteristics  of  its  form  are  lines  of 
like  lengths,  divided  into  like  numbers  of  feet,  each  uttered 
in  like  time,  to  which  are  sometimes  added  alliteration, 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  73 

assonance,  and  rhyme,  produced  by  the  recurrence  of  like 
sounds  in  either  consonants,  vowels,  or  both.  In  painting, 
sculpture,  and  architecture,  no  matter  of  what  "style," 
the  same  is  true.  The  most  superficial  inspection  of  any 
product  of  these  arts,  if  it  be  of  established  reputation,  will 
convince  one  that  it  is  composed  in  the  main  by  putting 
together  forms  that  are  alike  in  such  things  as  color,  shape, 
size,  posture,  and  proportion.    .    .    . 

But  classification  is  traceable  not  only  to  the  conditions 
of  mind  but  also  of  nature.  It  is  in  the  latter  that  the  mind 
is  confronted  by  that  which  classification  is  intended  to 
overcome,  by  that  which  is  the  opposite  of  unity — namely, 
variety.  If  there  were  none  of  this  in  nature,  all  things 
would  appear  to  be  alike,  and  classification  would  be  un- 
necessary. As  a  fact,  however,  no  two  things  are  alike 
in  all  regards;  and  the  mind  must  content  itself  with  putting 
together  those  that  are  alike  in  some  regards.  This  is  the 
same  as  to  say  that  classification  involves,  occasionally, 
putting  the  like  with  the  unlike  and  necessitates  contrast  as 
well  as  comparison.  ...  A  similar  fact  is  observable 
in  products  of  art.  One  of  the  most  charming  effects  in 
music  and  poetry  is  that  produced  when  more  or  less  unlike- 
ness  is  blended  with  the  likeness  in  rhythm,  tone,  and  move- 
ment which,  a  moment  ago,  was  said  to  constitute  the  chief 
element  of  artistic  form.  In  painting  and  sculpture  one  of 
the  most  invariable  characteristics  of  that  which  is  inartistic 
is  a  lack  of  sufficient  diversity,  colors  too  similar,  outlines 
too  uniform.  So,  too,  with  architecture.  Notice  the 
conventional  fronts  of  the  buildings  on  many  of  the  streets 
of  our  cities.  Their  accumulations  of  doors  and  windows 
and  cornices,  all  of  like  sizes  and  shapes,  are  certainly  not 
in  the  highest  sense  interesting.  When  we  have  seen  a  few 
of  them,  we  have  seen  all  of  them.  In  order  to  continue  to 
attract  our  attention,  forms  must,  now  and  then,  present 
features  that  have  not  been  seen  before.  In  "The  Genesis 
of  Art-Form"  (see  the  chart  on  page  89  of  this  volume), 
the  suggestions  derived  from  a  line  of  thought  similar  to 
that  just  pursued,  are  developed  into  various  methods  used 
in  art-composition. — Essentials  0}  Esthetics,  xiv. 

CLASSIFICATION,   NECESSITATED  BY   IMITATION. 

At  first  thought,  classification,  and  anything  resembling 
imitation  appear  to  necessitate  different  processes.     But, 


74  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

possibly,  they  do  not.  Suppose  that  the  forms  of  nature 
themselves  were  found  to  manifest  effects  like  those  of 
classification?  In  that  case,  to  imitate  them  would  involve 
imitating  this ;  and  to  add  to  them,  as  is  usually  done  in  art, 
and  to  add  to  them  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  the  added  fea- 
tures seem  analogous  to  the  imitated  ones,  and  thus  to  cause 
the  forms  as  wholes  to  continue  to  seem  natural,  would  in- 
volve continuing  the  process  of  classification.  Now,  if,  with 
this  thought  in  mind,  we  recall  the  appearances  of  nature,  we 
shall  recognize  that  the  condition,  which  has  been  supposed 
to  exist  there,  really  does  exist.  A  man,  when  classifying 
rocks,  puts  together  mentally  those  that  are  alike.  So  does 
nature,  grouping  them  in  the  same  mountain  ranges,  or  at  the 
bottoms  of  the  same  streams.  He  puts  together  leaves,  and 
feathers,  and  hairs  that  are  aHke.  So  does  nature,  making 
them  grow  on  the  same  trees,  or  birds,  or  animals.  He  puts 
together  human  beings  that  are  alike.  So  does  nature, 
giving  birth  to  them  in  the  same  families,  races,  climates, 
countries.  In  fact,  a  man's  mind  is  a  part  of  nature;  and 
when  it  works  naturally,  it  works  as  nature  does.  He 
combines  elements  as  a  result  of  classification,  in  accordance 
with  methods  analogous  to  those  in  which  nature,  or,  "the 
mind  in  nature, "  combines  them.  Indeed,  he  would  never 
have  thought  of  classification  at  all,  unless  in  nature  itself 
he  had  first  perceived  the  beginning  of  it.  He  would  never 
have  conceived  of  forming  a  group  of  animals  and  calling 
them  horses,  nor  have  been  able  to  conceive  of  this  unless 
nature  had  first  made  horses  alike.  To  put  together  the 
factors  of  an  art-product,  therefore,  in  accordance  with  the 
methods  of  classification,  does  not  involve  any  process 
inconsistent  with  representing  accurately  the  forms  that 
appear  in  the  world.  These  forms  themselves  are  made  up 
of  factors  apparently  put  together  in  the  same  way,  though 
not  to  the  same  extent. — The  Genesis  of  Art- Form,  i. 

COLOR  {see  harmony  of  color,  decorative  vs.  pictorial, 
and  representative  effects  of  color). 

color,  as  perceived  by  the  eye. 
Where  {i,  e.,  through  the  bacillar  layer)  the  optic  nerve 
enters  the  retina,  the  eye  is  blind.  This  seems  to  prove 
that  the  bacillary  layer  is  necessary  to  sight.  But  this  layer 
contains  the  rods  and  cones.  These  are  said  in  Foster's 
**  Physiology "  to  be  transparent,  refractive,  doubly  refrac- 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  75 

tive,  and  very  sensitive  to  light,  changing  in  size  in  different 
degrees  of  it.  Possibly  they  may  act  in  some  way  analo- 
gously to  prisms.  But  however  they  may  act,  Fig.  131 
shows  that  the  rods  because  smaller  should  be  more  sensitive 
to  slight  vibratory  effects  than  the  cones;  and  Fig.  128 
shows  that  the  central  spot,  which  sees  outlines  and  colors 
the  most  distinctly,  contains  only  cones.  Are  the  rods, 
therefore,  affected,  according  to  what  was  said  on  page  379, 
by  light  in  general,  and  the  cones  by  local  color  in  particular 
objects  ?  Again,  each  rod  and  cone  possesses  two  apparently 
separated  limbs,  the  larger  of  which  is  nearer  the  main  body 
of  the  nerves  than  the  smaller.  If  a  wave  of  white  light 
affect  each  limb  similarly,  this  wave  divided  and  changed  in 
form,  as  when  color  is  produced,  must  affect  each  differently. 
In  this  case  is  one  cone-limb  affected  by  the  principal  color- 
wave,  and  the  smaller,  with  reflecting  rods  near  it,  by  the 
twin  complementary  color- wave?  All  around  the  rods  and 
cones,  and  inside  the  former,  a  purplish-blue  liquid  is  con- 
stantly advancing  and  receding.  It  has  been  supposed  that 
the  sole  purpose  of  this  is  to  record  different  degrees  of  light 
and  shade.  But,  while  recording  these,  it  may  do  very 
much  more.  Most  of  us  must  have  noticed,  when  the 
power  is  turned  from  an  electric  light,  that  the  one  platinum 
wire  vibrating  at  different  rates  produces  all  the  warm  colors 
— white-yellow,  yellow,  orange,  and  red;  and  it  is  a  fact 
easily  shown  that  these  colors  respectively,  when  shining 
through  blue  glass,  produce  all  the  cold  colors, — blue,  green 
olive-green,  and  purple.  The  attributing  of  articulative 
sounds  to  different  rates  and  forms  of  vibrations  when  affect- 
ing the  same  ossicles  in  the  ear  suggested  to  Professor  Bell 
that  apparatus  for  converting  the  vibrations  in  an  electric 
wire  into  sounds  which  made  the  telephone  a'success.  Why 
is  it  not  reasonable  to  suppose  that  the  same  rods  or  cones, 
when  vibrating  differently,  shaded  or  not  by  blue,  can 
produce  all  the  colors,  so  that  the  mind  can  see  them  as  well 
as  the  outlines  in  the  picture  impressed  upon  the  retina. 
Another  thought:  vibrations  of  particles  of  matter  against 
one  another  or  the  air  usually  generate  heat.  Heat  thus 
generated  usually  generates  chemical  action .  Different  rates 
of  vibration — and  this  is  why,  as  has  been  proved,  it  is  true 
of  different  colors — generate  different  degrees  of  heat  and  of 
chemical  action.  Chemical  action,  so  scientists  tell  us, 
manifested  in  the  pulling  down  and  building  up  of  tissue, 


76  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

is  the  method  through  which  the  nerves  communicate 
sensations.  What  then?  The  author  is  aware  that  he  has 
suggested  an  explanation  of  the  way  in  which  sound-waves 
or  sight-waves  may  affect  the  organs  of  the  ear  or  eye,  and 
through  them  the  nerves  and  the  mind  back  of  them,  which 
is  not  in  the  books.  But  can  any  explanation  be  found  in 
them  as  plausible,  or  as  free  from  objections,  as  is  this  one? 
Certainly  it  is  not  any  explanation  ascribing  the  recognition 
of  any  pitch  or  color  to  a  separate  organ  fitted  to  respond 
sympathetically  to  it  and  to  it  alone.  So  far,  at  least,  as 
concerns  the  organism,  as  represented  in  Figs.  130  and  131, 
there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  otherwise  than  that  all  the  rods 
and  cones  may  be  equally  fitted  to  respond  to  the  waves  of 
light  of  any  color,  and  yet  with  different  degrees  of  sus- 
ceptibility, some — possibly  the  rods — ^representing  only  at- 
mospheric light  and  color,  and  some — possibly  the  cones — 
that  color  which  appears  in  particular  objects. 

The  explanation  thus  suggested  not  only  refers  to  a 
similar  cause  the  subjective  effects  both  in  the  ear  and  the 
eye  .  .  .  but  it  seems  to  explain  also  the  most  important 
difference  between  the  effects  of  successive'  and  of  simultan- 
eous ^  contrast.  This  is  that  the  time  of  the  continuance  and 
the  brilliancy  of  a  color  in  successive  contrast  depend  upon 
the  length  and  strength  of  the  vibratory  condition  preceding 
it,  whereas,  in  simultaneous  contrast,  such  effects  depend 
neither  upon  the  length  of  time  during  which  one  looks  at  a 
color,  nor  even  upon  its  comparative  fulness.  This  differ- 
ence is  exactly  what,  according  to  our  hypothesis,  we  should 
expect.  According  to  it,  the  continuance  and  character 
of  the  oscillations  occasioning  successive  contrast  will,  of 
course,  be  determined  by  the  quantity  and  quality  of  their 
previous  excitation.  On  the  contrary,  the  complementary 
color  produced  in  simultaneous  contrast  depends  upon  the 
presence  by  its  side  of  the  local  color,  and  it  is  neither  in- 
creased nor  lessened  in  intensity  by  its  continued  presence. 
Moreover,  in  every  place  where  this  complementary  hue  can 
become  visible,  there  is  already  some  other  shade  or  tint  with 
which  its  hue  must  blend,  and  .  .  .  produce  a  mixed,  and 
therefore  never,  save  in  very  exceptional  cases,  a  brilliant 
effect. — Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color ^  xxii. 

*  Color  contrasting  with  that  of  an  object  removed  from  sight. 
'  Color  contrasting  with  that  of  an  object  which  it  surrounds. 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  77 

COLOR  AS  PRODUCED  BY  HAVING  HUES  MIX  IN  THE  EYE. 

Within  the  last  half -century,  the  art  of  painting  .  .  .  has 
been  almost  revolutionized;  and  here  again  we  have  to  at- 
tribute the  result  to  a  change  in  the  method  of  producing 
effects  in  color.  The  older  painters,  as  a  rule,  mixed  their 
hues  before  placing  them  on  the  canvas,  and  put  them  there 
exactly  as  they  wished  to  have  them  appear  when  seen 
from  a  distance.  But,  according  to  the  most  modern 
method  (suggested  first  by  Velasquez),  colors,  so  far  as 
feasible,  are  brought  into  proximity  on  the  canvas  in  such 
ways  that,  although  not  mixed  there,  they  shall,  when  seen 
from  a  distance,  mix  in  the  eye.  This  is  the  way  in  which 
the  color  effects  of  nature  are  usually  produced;  and,  as 
applied  in  many  cases  renders  the  art-product  much  more 
satisfactory,  suggesting  that  the  elements  entering  into  a 
scene,  like  those  of  leaves  and  grasses,  are  separated  from 
one  another,  and  thus  conveying  impressions  of  trans- 
parency and  atmosphere  which  were  impossible  according 
to  the  older  method.  The  general  effect  .  .  .  with  the 
attendant  impressions  of  transparency  .  .  .  and  of  in- 
finity of  gradations  seems  to  be  accepted  as  a  crucial  test  of 
excellence  in  modern  painting. 

It  is  safe  to  say  that  the  Fontainebleau-Barbizon  and  the 
Spanish  Roman  schools,  which  have  been  chiefly  instru- 
mental in  introducing  these  new  methods,  have  changed 
the  whole  character  of  much  of  the  contemporary  art  in 
other  countries,  and  of  about  all  of  the  best  painting  in 
our  own. — Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color ^  xvii. 

COLOR,    IN   PAINTING   VS.   DECORATION. 

There  are  two  methods  of  using  color,  one  having  to  do 
with  imitating  it  so  as  to  represent  it  as  we  find  it  in  certain 
agreeable  or  beautiful  appearances  of  nature;  the  other 
with  applying  or  arranging  it,  irrespective  of  anything  but 
the  general  principles  in  accordance  with  which  it  appears 
to  be  agreeable  or  beautiful.  As  painting  gives  us  pictures 
of  the  forms  of  nature,  and  architecture  does  not,  it  is 
natural  to  suppose  that  the  first  of  these  methods  is,  or 
shotild  be,  used  mainly  in  the  former  art,  and  the  second 
mainly  in  the  latter,  i.  c,  in  the  decoration  of  the  interiors  or 
exteriors  of  buildings.  This  natural  supposition  it  would 
be  well  if  some  of  our  modern  painters  would  ponder. 
When  they  imagine  that  they  can  use  color  merely  "for  its 


78  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

own  sake"  they  are  on  ground  almost,  though  not  quite, 
as  dangerous — owing  to  the  far  more  subtle  requirements  of 
color  when  used  in  any  circumstances  whatever — as  are 
poets  who  imagine  that  they  can  use  rhyme,  or  any  other 
element  of  sound,  merely  ''for  its  own  sake. "  The  primary 
object  of  both  painting  and  poetry  is  to  represent  certain 
effects  that  are,  or  that  may  be  supposed  to  be,  in  nature ; 
and  the  moment  that  this  primary  object  is  forgotten  the 
artist  or  author  has  crossed  the  boundaries  of  his  own 
art,  and  must  compete  with  the  decorators  or  musicians, 
in  circumstances  where  imitative  limitations  by  which 
they  are  not  hampered  will  materially  interfere  with  his 
success. — Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color,  xvii. 

Just  as  arrangements  of  sound  in  verse  are  satisfactory  in 
the  degree  in  which  they  fulfil  such  laws  of  harmony  as 
apply  to  music,  so  arrangements  of  colors  in  pictures  are 
satisfactory  in  the  degree  in  which  they  fulfil  such  laws  of 
harmony  as  apply  to  decoration.  Although  the  painter  of 
pictures  does  not  use  color  merely  for  its  own  sake,  he  ought 
nevertheless  to  use  it  in  such  a  way  as  to  cause  it,  for  its  own 
sake,  to  be  a  source  of  interest  and  pleasure. — IdeiUy  xxiii. 

In  music,  it  is  absolutely  essential  that  all  the  tones 
sounded  simultaneously  as  in  chords,  or  in  immediate 
succession,  should  fulfil  certain  physical  and  physiological 
requirements.  If  they  do  not,  all  the  other  art-methods, 
however  scrupulously  applied,  cannot  secure  harmony. 
That  the  same  is  true  with  reference  to  the  colors  used  side 
by  side  or  one  after  another  in  the  order  of  space  is  a  fact 
which,  even  if  not  confirmed  by  our  own  observation,  the 
investigations  of  science  have  placed  beyond  dispute. — 
Identy  XXII. 

COLOR-PERCEPTION   INFLUENCED  BY  CULTIVATION. 

A  spectrum,  which,  when  thrown  upon  green  pigment, 
shows  only  a  green  color,  if  thrown  upon  the  green  of  foliage 
shows  tints  both  of  red  and  yellow.  Or  if  the  trees  be 
examined  through  a  red  glass,  it  has  been  observed  that  in 
the  degree  in  which  the  glass  transmits  only  the  red  rays  the 
leaves  are  red,  although  the  blue  sky  above  them,  as  also 
green  fabrics  and  pigments  about  them,  appear  black.  The 
conclusion  is  inevitable  that  the  coloring  matter  of  foliage, 
which  is  called  chlorophyl,  contains,  besides  green,  other  and 
warmer  colors.     Of  course,  for  one  who  knows  this,  the 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  79 

suggestion  of  the  tints  of  red  and  yellow,  in  the  green  about 
him,  will  greatly  augment  his  interest  in  natural  scenery. 
Nor  does  it  require  more  than  a  slight  degree  of  effort  to 
enable  him  actually  to  perceive  these.  In  coloring,  as  in 
everything,  men  come  to  see  what  they  try  to  see.  What 
but  persistence  in  scrutinizing  and  criticising  their  neigh- 
bors' attire  makes  the  color-sense  in  women  so  much 
stronger  than  in  men?  As  shown  in  Chapters  XII.  to 
XIV.  of  **  Art  in  Theory, "  beauty,  even  as  recognized  by  the 
senses,  depends  largely  upon  effects  produced  upon  the  mind. 
The  truth  underlying  such  injunctions  as  "Seek  ye  first 
the  kingdom, "  "The  kingdom  is  within  you,"  and  "Except 
a  man  be  born  from  above  he  cannot  see  the  kingdom,"  is 
of  universal  applicability.  Those  who  strive  to  enter  into 
the  realm  of  coloring  will  find  capabilities  within  themselves 
which,  if  properly  used,  will  introduce  into  their  field  of 
vision  an  infinite  variety  of  tints  and  shades  which,  so  far 
as  concerns  the  effect  upon  the  senses,  transcend  in  beauty 
those  which  the  ordinary  man  perceives,  in  a  degree  akin 
to  that  in  which  the  new  earth  pictured  in  the  Apocalypse 
transcends  the  old  earth  of  ordinary  experience.  It  is  only 
the  man,  too,  who  is  able  to  perceive  these  colors  in  nattire, 
by  whom  they  can  be  fully  recognized  as  representing  truth 
when  they  are  placed  upon  the  canvas  of  the  painter.  Yet 
here  they  are  essential.  That  indescribable  effect  of  vitality 
which  characterizes  the  grasses  and  grains  of  some  land- 
scapes is  owing  largely  to  the  presence  in  them  of  these  red 
and  yellow  tints.  It  is  these  that  make  of  the  dead  green  a 
"living  green,"  just  as  surely  as  the  same  tints,  were  they 
used,  would  give  to  the  pictiu*e  of  a  corpse  the  glow  and 
warmth  of  life. — Idem,  xviii. 

COMPARISON  AND  ASSOCIATION  IN  ART-COMPOSITION  {see  also 
ASSOCIATION,  and  IMAGINATION  AND  COMPARISON). 

Certain  audible  or  visible  effects  traceable  to  material  or 
to  human  nature  have,  either  by  way  of  comparison,  as  in 
imitation,  or  of  association,  as  in  conventional  usage,  a  recog- 
nized meaning.  This  meaning  enables  the  mind  to  employ 
them  in  representing  its  conceptions.  But  what  has  been 
said  applies  to  the  use  of  these  effects  so  far  only  as  they 
exist  in  the  condition  in  which  they  manifest  themselves  in 
nature.  Art-composition  involves  an  elaboration  and  often 
an  extensive  combination  of  them.     How  can  they  be 


8o  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

elaborated  and  combined  in  such  a  way  as  to  cause  them  to 
continue  to  represent  the  same  conceptions  that  they  repre- 
sented before  art  had  begun  its  work  upon  them?  Evi- 
dently this  result  can  be  attained  in  the  degree  alone  in 
which  all  that  is  added  to  the  natural  sound  or  sight 
representing  the  original  conception  continues  to  repeat 
the  same  representative  effect.  In  other  words,  the  im- 
agination, which,  by  way  of  comparison  or  of  associa- 
tion, connected  together  the  original  mental  conception 
and  the  form  representing  it,  must  continue,  in  the  same 
way  to  connect  together  this  form  and  all  the  forms  added 
to  it  by  way  of  elaboration  or  combination.  Other  methods 
of  expression — ^religious  or  scientific — may  use  imagina- 
tion in  only  its  initial  work  of  formulating  words  or  other 
symbols,  but  art  must  use  it  to  the  very  end.  It  mat- 
ters not  whether  its  first  conception  be  an  image  of  a 
whole,  as  of  an  entire  poem  or  palace,  or  whether  it  be  an 
image  of  a  part,  as  of  a  certain  form  of  metre  or  of  arch, 
the  imagination,  in  dividing  the  image  of  the  whole  into 
parts,  or  in  building  up  the  whole  from  its  parts,  must  always, 
in  successful  art,  continue  to  carry  on  its  work  by  way  of 
comparison  or  association. — Essentials  of  Esthetics,  xiv. 

COMPARISON  APPLICABLE  TO  MENTAL  CONCEPTIONS. 

The  degree  of  importance  that  should  be  attached  to  the 
representation  of  like  conceptions  in  the  forms  that  are 
grouped  together,  is  difficult  for  some  to  recognize.  Yet  if, 
as  was  said  on  page  344,  the  difference  between  the  effects 
of  harmony  and  of  discord  be  the  difference  between  experi- 
encing in  the  nerves  an  unimpeded,  free,  regularly  recturent 
vibratory  thrill  or  glow,  and  experiencing  an  impeded,  con- 
strained, irregularly  recurrent  series  of  shocks  or  jars,  then 
an  application  of  the  simplest  physiological  principles  ought 
to  show  us  that  the  artistic  effects  of  which  we  have  spoken 
can  be  produced  in  part  by  the  representation  of  like  concep- 
tions. It  is  universally  admitted  that  the  nerves,  merely  as 
nerves,  may  be  affected  from  the  thought-side  as  well  as 
from  the  sense-side.  Whatever,  therefore,  owing  to  incon- 
gruity between  thought  and  form  or  between  different 
thoughts  as  represented  by  different  forms,  shocks  one's 
conceptions  or,  as  we  say,  one's  sense  of  the  proprieties,  may 
so  contribute  to  the  general  nervous  result  that,  even  though 
he  may  find  the  combinations  of  color  thoroughly  pleasing, 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  8l 

it  is  physiologically  impossible  that  he  should  experience  the 
effects  of  beauty  in  its  totality.  On  this  subject  the  reader 
may  consult  Chapter  XIII.  of  **Art  and  Theory." — Propor- 
tion and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color y  xxi. 

COMPARISON  AS  THE   FOREMOST  ART-METHOD  {seC  olso  COM- 
POSITION, IMAGINATION,  LIKE  WITH  LIKE,  and  PAGE  89). 

Every  one  knows  that  comparison  is  the  very  first  result 
of  any  exercise  of  the  imagination.  And  he  knows  also 
that  imagination  is  the  source  of  all  art-production.  When 
a  man  begins  to  find  in  one  feature  the  image  of  another, 
and,  because  the  two  are  alike,  to  put  them  together  by  way 
of  comparison,  then,  and  then  only,  does  he  begin  to  con- 
struct an  art-product.  And  not  only  so,  but  only  then 
does  he  continue  his  work  in  a  way  to  make  it  continue  to  be 
a  medium  of  expression.  The  forms  which  he  elaborates  are 
naturally  representative  of  certain  phases  of  thought  or 
feeling,  and  the  significance  of  the  completed  product  de- 
pends upon  its  continuing  to  represent  these  phases.  But  it 
can  continue  to  do  this  only  when  that  which  is  added  in  the 
process  of  elaboration  is  essentially  like  that  with  which  the 
process  starts.  It  is  a  striking  illustration  of  the  rationality 
which  characterizes  the  action  of  the  mind  when  working 
naturally  and  instinctively  though  without  knowledge  of 
reasons,  that  the  forms  of  all  the  arts,  as  developed  in 
primitive  ages,  should  fulfil  this  rational  requirement. 
.  .  .  Looking  at  poetry,  we  find  the  chief  characteristic  of 
its  form  to  be  lines  of  like  lengths,  divided  into  like  numbers 
of  feet,  each  uttered  in  like  time,  to  which  are  sometimes 
added  alHteration,  assonance,  and  rhyme,  produced  by  the 
recurrence  of  like  sounds  in  either  consonants,  vowels,  or 
both.  So  with  music.  The  chief  characteristic  of  its  form 
is  a  series  of  phrases  of  like  lengths,  divided  into  like  num- 
bers of  measures,  all  sounded  in  like  time,  through  the  use 
of  notes  that  move  upward  or  downward  in  the  scale  at  like 
intervals,  with  like  recurrences  of  melody  and  harmony. 
In  painting,  sculpture,  and  architecture,  no  matter  of  what 
"  style, "  the  same  is  true.  The  most  superficial  inspection 
of  any  product  of  these  arts,  if  it  be  of  established  reputation, 
will  convince  one  that  it  is  composed  in  the  main  by  putting 
together  forms  that  are  alike  in  such  things  as  color,  shape, 
size,  posture,  and  proportion.  ...  It  is  an  equally 
striking  illustration  of  the  irrationality  and  departure  from 


82  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

nature  into  which  too  much  self-conscious  ratiocination 
may  plunge  the  same  mind,  that,  in  our  own  more  enlight- 
ened age,  art-forms  should  not  only  be  tolerated  but  praised 
— in  poems  and  buildings  for  instance — in  which  the  prin- 
ciple of  putting  like  with  like  has  been  utterly  disregarded. 
— The  Genesis  of  Art  Form,  ii. 

Ancient  artists,  with  only  their  sensations  to  guide  them, 
constructed  those  harmonic  systems  of  tone  and  of  color, 
of  which  modern  science  alone  has  discovered  the  causes. 
These  causes,  as  will  be  shown  presently,  are  the  same  as 
those  that  underlie  all  the  developments  of  form  in  art, 
being  all  traceable  to  the  satisfaction  which,  for  reasons 
unfolded  in  "The  Genesis  of  Art-Form,"  the  mind  derives 
from  being  able,  amid  the  variety  and  complexity  of  nature, 
to  form  a  conception  of  unity,  and,  through  the  general 
method  of  comparison  to  embody  this  conception  in  a 
product. — Rhythm  and  Harmony  in  Poetry  and  Music,  vii. 

In  these  volumes,  the  effects  of  form  in  art  have  been 
traced  to  a  single  principle,  and  to  the  same  principle  have 
been  traced  the  effects  of  whatever  significance  also  may 
be  expressed  in  each  form.  All  art,  in  any  of  its  manifesta- 
tions, has  been  shown  to  be  an  emphasizing,  through  a 
method  of  elaboration,  of  factors  taken  from  one's  surround- 
ings, which  are  used  not  only  in  art,  but  in  every  attempt 
at  expression,  for  the  purpose  of  representing,  by  way  of 
association  or  comparison,  sometimes  these  surroundings 
themselves,  and  sometimes  the  thoughts  and  emotions  that 
are  communicated  through  them.  Moreover,  whether  we 
wish  to  emphasize  the  factors  themselves,  or  the  purpose  for 
which  the  mind  uses  them,  each  end  is  best  attained  by 
putting,  so  far  as  possible,  like  with  like  in  the  sense  of 
grouping  features  having  either  corresponding  effects  upon 
the  mind,  i.  e.,  like  significance;  or  corresponding  effects 
upon  the  senses,  i.  e.,  like  forms ;  or,  as  is  frequently  the  case, 
corresponding  effects  upon  both  the  mind  and  the  senses. 
Stated  thus,  the  principle  may  seem  very  simple  and  insig- 
nificant. But  any  one  who  has  read  the  volumes  of  this 
series,  and  observed  the  applicability  of  the  principle  to  all 
possible  effects  of  form  in  all  the  arts,  together  with  the  way 
in  which  analogous  effects  in  different  arts  have  been  corre- 
lated to  one  another ;  and  who  has  observed  also  the  applica- 
bility of  the  principle  to  the  mental  effects  of  art,  whether 
produced  by  the  grandest  generalizations  that  can  broaden 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  83 

thought,  and  the  profoundest  passions  that  can  excite 
emotion,  or  only  by  the  smallest  specific  accent  of  a  syllable, 
the  measuring  of  a  tone,  the  shading  of  a  line,  or  the  turning 
of  a  little  finger, — any  one  who  has  observed  these  facts,  and 
is  at  all  appreciative  of  the  vastness  and  complexity  of  the 
subject,  or  is  acquainted  with  the  chaotic  conditions  in  which 
the  histories  of  opinions  have  left  men's  common  concep- 
tions of  it,  or  is  merely  aware  of  that  which,  in  general,  is 
the  distinctive  aim  of  all  philosophical  analysis, — any  such 
man  will  recognize  the  degree  in  which,  when  the  elements 
investigated  are  made  to  seem  single  and  simple,  the 
comprehensiveness  and  importance  of  the  discussion  are 
enhanced. — Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color,  xxvi. 
The  reader  needs  to  be  reminded  that  the  developments 
resulting  from  putting  like  with  like  according  to  the  methods 
indicated  in  the  chart  on  the  opposite  page,  are  mani- 
fested not  only  in  rhythm  and  proportion  but  also  in  har- 
mony, whether  of  sound  or  sight,  the  difference  between  the 
first  two  and  the  latter  being  that  in  the  former  we  are 
conscious  of  the  elements  that  are  put  together,  and  in  the 
latter  we  are  not  conscious  of  them,  and  can  only  become 
aware  of  them  as  a  result  of  scientific  demonstration.  At 
the  same  time,  there  are  both  sounds  and  sights  which  are 
in  the  border-land,  as  we  may  term  it,  between  these  two 
conditions.  For  instance,  in  a  low  tone  of  the  organ  we 
can  distinguish  vibrations  allying  its  effects  to  those  of 
rhythm  almost  as  clearly  as  we  can  distinguish  pitch  allying 
them  to  those  of  harmony.  So  in  the  case  of  this  particular 
curve,  a  reason  for  the  use  of  which  is  indicated  here  in 
accordance  with  the  principles  of  proportion, — this  ex- 
planation will  not  prevent  another,  and  perhaps  a  better  one, 
which  will  be  given  on  page  292,  and  which  ascribes  it  to 
the  principles  underlying  harmony  of  outline. — Idem,  v. 

COMPARISON  IN  ARCHITECTURE  {see  mention  of  it  under 

ARCHITECTURE,  PERSPECTIVE,  and   PROPORTION). 

Study  will  show  that  at  the  time  of  the  Gothic  and  the 
Renaissance  revivals,  the  manifestation  in  buildings  of  the 
principle  of  putting  large  numbers  of  like  dimensions  with 
like,  again  came  to  be  considered  necessary.  It  is  con- 
sidered so  in  all  great  architecture. 

In  case  our  own  builders  ignore  this  fact,  we  can  expect 
but  little  from  them.     They  may  turn  out  of  their  planing 


84  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

mills  or  stone  quarries,  pillars  that  look  like  those  of  Greek 
temples,  or  arches  that  look  like  those  of  Gothic  cathedrals ; 
they  may  discard  these  older  models  altogether,  and  try  as 
hard  as  savages  to  be  original  by  bringing  together  dis- 
cordant mixtures  of  shapes,  sizes,  styles,  and  colors,  and 
doom  to  eternal  infamy  the  names  of  Queens  Anne  and 
Elizabeth  by  calling  their  hotch-potch  after  them;  but  no 
great  architecture  or  school  of  architecture  can  be  produced 
in  this  way.  Great  architecture  is  founded  upon  principles 
that  are  in  the  constitution  of  nature  and  of  mind,  the 
applicability  of  which  all  men  recognize.  Nor  can  they  be 
ignored  or  neglected  in  any  product  of  art  without  lessening 
the  force  of  its  appeal  to  human  interest. — Iderriy  xiii. 
Every  list  of  figures  that  we  have  found  proves  .  .  .  that 
the  Greek  builder  was  careful  to  preserve  the  appearance  of 
putting  like  dimensions  with  like.  This  principle  applied 
to  all  the  parts  of  a  structure  would  determine  its  pro- 
portions as  a  whole.  If,  in  time,  laws  like  those  mentioned 
by  Vitruvius  arose,  it  is  more  than  likely  that  most  of  these 
in  the  forms  in  which  they  have  been  preserved,  were  after- 
thoughts, derived  from  what,  at  a  period  when  architecture 
was  no  longer  in  its  prime,  was  discovered  by  measuring  the 
buildings  of  the  fathers.  Why  it  should  ever  have  passed 
its  prime  and  begun  to  decline  is  easy  to  perceive.  When 
any  form  of  art  is  young,  men  are  never  tired  of  going  back 
to  first  principles  and  experimenting  with  their  designs, 
not  only  in  painting  and  sculpture  but  in  architecture  too, 
just  as  often  as  effects  seem  unsatisfactory.  After  the 
earlier,  creative  periods  of  the  art,  however,  men  begin  to 
think  that  the  whole  subject,  and  all  its  methods,  have  been 
mastered.  They  imagine  that  no  more  practical  experi- 
ments are  needed.  They  are  first  contented  with  what  has 
been  achieved  by  their  ancestors,  and  then  they  begin  to 
have  a  traditional  veneration  for  it.  That  which  should 
stimulate  them  to  thought,  stirs  them  only  to  reverence, 
and,  like  many  of  the  critics  and  architects  of  our  own 
day,  they  come  to  teach  in  their  schools,  and  to  believe  in 
their  hearts,  that  to  be  a  successful  imitator  is  to  embody 
the  only  praiseworthy  artistic  ideal.  Undoubtedly  this  was 
the  fate  that,  after  a  time,  overtook  the  architects  of  Greece. 
They  became  imitators.  Because  their  copies  stood  before 
them,,  they  ceased  to  experiment.  Because  they  did  not 
need  to  conceive  their  own  designs  they  ceased  to  think 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  85 

about  them;  and  when  they  ceased  to  do  this  they  neces- 
sarily ceased  to  cause  them  to  develop,  and  began  to  cause 
them  to  deteriorate.  Before  long,  they  began  to  regard 
as  ends  those  methods  which  the  great  architects  had  used  as 
means.  They  reproduced  the  subordinate  features  in  the 
older  temples,  but  overlooked  the  principal  ones.  Finally 
all  the  measurements  that  they  used  grew  discordant,  and  it 
was  beyond  the  power  of  any  rules  like  those  of  Vitruvius 
to  make  them  otherwise.  Columns,  entablatures,  and  tym- 
panums, bore  a  general  resemblance  to  those  upon  the 
Acropolis,  but  contained  not  one  element  that,  in  the 
estimation  of  the  merest  tyro  of  the  art,  could  entitle  them 
to  be  considered  architectural  models.  .  .  .  The  Greek 
temples  emphasize  results,  which  the  others  do  not,  attained 
by  putting  like  with  like.  All  the  best  Greek  buildings 
show  similar  effects,  and  why?  Because  the  Greek  lived 
near  to  nature.  His  buildings  emphasized  corresponding 
measurements  for  the  same  reason  as  do  the  card  houses  of  a 
child.  The  Greek  carried  out  the  instinctive  promptings 
and  prescriptions  of  the  mind.  It  was  in  the  endeavor  to 
do  this  that  he  originated  those  scientific  adjustments  to 
accommodate  actual  proportions  to  optical  requirements, 
which  will  be  considered  in  the  following  chapters.  Only 
much  later  did  this  end  absorb  the  wh6le  interest  of  builders, 
as  it  has  that  of  modern  students  who  have  examined  their 
works,  and  thus  divert  attention  from  more  important 
matters  on  account  of  which  alone  these  optical  require- 
ments were  at  first  studied.  The  result  was  on  a  par  with 
that  of  the  exclusive  attention  paid  to  the  secondary  details 
of  poetic  form  in  the  time  of  Queen  Anne,  leading  to  the 
pompous  prosaic  jingle  that  during  most  of  the  last  cen- 
tury passed  in  England  for  the  only  permissible  poetic 
phraseology. — Idem,  xiii. 

COMPARISON,     PUTTING    LIKE    WITH    LIKE    ^N    POETRY. 

The  illustrations  used  are  sufficient  ...  to  suggest  to 
what  an  extent  the  meanings  of  words,  whether  primary  or 
secondary,  are  developed  according  to  the  very  closely 
allied  methods  of  association  and  comparison.  Isolated 
words,  however,  do  not  constitute  language.  Before  they 
can  become  this,  they  must  be  put  into  phrases  and  sen- 
tences. But  what  are  these  phrases  and  sentences,  again, 
except  words  uttered  consecutively  in  such  a  way  that  the 


86  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

order  of  their  utterance  or  dependence  upon  one  another 
shall  compare  with  the  order,  i.  e.,  the  direction  or  tendency, 
of  the  different  phases  of  the  mental  motive  which  prompts 
to  them?  Through  the  whole  extent  of  language,  therefore, 
which  furnishes  the  material  or  medium  for  the  expression 
of  poetry,  we  find  in  constant  operation  this  process  of 
comparison.  The  same  thing  is  true,  but  need  not  be 
argued,  with  reference  to  metaphors,  similes,  and  representa- 
tions of  characters  and  events,  which  all  acknowledge  to  be 
necessary  to  the  further  development  of  poetic  language  and 
thought. — Art  in  Theory,  xviii. 

We  cannot,  without  some  important  modification,  frame 
any  rule  to  the  effect  that  the  uttering  in  succession  of  like 
sounds  is  invariably  euphonious.  But  should  we,  therefore, 
draw  the  inference,  as  some  do,  that  the  opposite  is  true;  in 
other  words,  that  in  poetry  the  repetition  of  similar  sounds 
is  not  euphonious,  and  that  here  is  a  case  in  which  the 
principle  of  putting  like  effects  with  like  does  not  apply? 
Before  drawing  this  conclusion,  let  us,  at  least,  look  farther 
into  the  subject.  .  .  .  The  vocal  organs  are  so  formed 
that  their  positions  and  actions  in  an  accented  and  in  an 
unaccented  utterance  are  different.   .    .    . 

Moreover,  the  nature  of  the  organs  is  such  that  ease  of 
utterance  requires  that  both  forms  should  be  present,  and 
used  in  alternation.  One  cannot  apply  to  consecutive 
syllables  without  restriction,  therefore,  this  principle  of 
comparison.  Unaccented  syllables  must  contrast  with  the 
accented  ones,  and  in  such  a  way  too  as  to  complement  them 
(see  page  89).  But  if  this  requirement  be  regarded,  like 
sounds  repeated  only  on  accented  or  only  on  unaccented 
syllables,  except  in  the  sense  in  which  all  forms  of  repetition 
may  become  monotonous  and  tiresome,  are  not  open  to 
the  objection  urged.  They  do  not  render  utterance  more 
difficult,  as  suggested  above,  but,  on  the  contrary,  decidedly 
more  easy. — Rhythm  and  Harmony  in  Poetry  and  Music, 

VII. 

COMPLEMENT   {see  CHART  ON   PAGE   89,  CONTRAST,    and 
HARMONY  OF   COLOR). 

Two  things  are  complements  when  they  contrast,  and 
yet,  as  they  appear  together,  complete  the  one  thing  to 
which  they  equally  belong.  They  must  be  regarded,  too, 
in  classification,  because  every  department  of  nature  is  full 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  t1 

of  them.  Certain  kinds  of  metals  and  ores,  leaves  and 
branches,  males  and  females,  alike  in  some  regards,  unlike 
in  others,  are  always  found  together,  and  are  both  necessary 
to  the  realization  of  the  type.  So  in  the  arts.  In  those  of 
sound,  high  and  low  tones  contrast;  and  yet,  if  we  are  to 
have  rhythm,  melody,  or  harmony,  both  are  necessary.  In 
the  arts  of  sight,  light  and  shade  contrast;  and  yet,  if  we 
are  to  represent  the  effects  of  forms  as  they  appear  in  sun- 
light, both  are  necessary.  In  colors,  again,  certain  hues, 
like  red  and  blue-green,  contrast;  and  yet  as  both,  when 
blended  together,  make  white,  both  may  be  said  to  be 
necessary  to  the  completeness  of  light.  In  all  these  cases 
the  contrasting  factors  are  termed  complements.  The 
principle  which  underlies  their  use  is  closely  related,  both  in 
reality  and  in  ordinary  conception,  to  the  developments  of 
it  in  counteraction  and  balance. — The  Genesis  of  Art- Form ,  li. 

Complement  produces  unity  in  a  natural  way  from  things 
different.  Counteraction  applies  the  principle  underlying 
complement  to  things  that  are  not  complementary  by  nature, 
and  produces,  as  we  have  seen,  effects  that  are  essential  to 
the  very  existence  of  form.  Balance ^  going  still  farther, 
applies  the  same  principle  to  things  that  are  neither  com- 
plementary nor  counteractive,  in  such  a  way  as  to  give  a 
more  satisfactory  appearance  to  the  form  by  adding  to  it 
the  effect  of  equilibrium.  A  still  later  development  of  the 
same  principle,  preceding  which,  however,  there  need  to  be 
some  intervening  stages,  results  in  symmetry. — Idem,  iii. 

COMPLEXITY  {see  BEAUTY  ATTRIBUTED  TO  HARMONY). 
COMPOSITION  IN  ART,  METHOD  OF  {see  CHART  ON  PAGE  89,  and 

mention  of  it  under  classification  and  comparison). 
^  How  is  a  song  or  a  symphony  that  is  expressive  of  any 
given  feeling  composed?  Always  thus:  A  certain  duration, 
force,  pitch,  or  quality  of  voice,  varied  two  or  three  times,  is 
recognized  to  be  a  natural  form  of  expression  for  a  certain 
state  of  mind, — satisfaction,  grief,  ecstasy,  fright,  as  the 
case  may  be.  A  musician  takes  this  form  of  sound,  and  adds 
to  it  other  forms  that  in  rhythm  or  in  modulation,  or  in  both, 
can  be  compared  or  associated  with  it,  varying  it  in  only 
such  subordinate  ways  as  constantly  to  suggest  it ;  and  thus 
he  elaborates  a  song  expressive  of  satisfaction,  grief,  ecstasy, 
or  fright.  Or  if  it  be  a  symphony,  the  method  is  the  same. 
The  whole,  intricate  as  it  may  appear,  is  developed  by  recur- 


88  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

rences  of  the  same  or  very  similar  effects,  varied  almost 
infinitely  but  in  such  ways  as  constantly  to  suggest  a  few 
notes  or  chords  which  form  the  theme  or  themes.  A  similar 
fact  is  true  with  reference  to  poetic  elaboration.  What  are 
the  following  but  series  of  comparisons, — reiterations  of  the 
same  particular  or  general  idea  in  different  phraseology  or 
figures?  .    .    . 

What  do  we  have  in  the  poetic  treatment  of  a  subject 
considered  as  a  whole,  as  in  an  epic  or  a  drama?  Nothing 
but  repeated  delineations  of  the  same  general  conceptions 
or  characters  as  manifested  or  developed  amid  different 
surroundings  of  time  or  of  place.  So  with  the  forms  of 
painting,  sculpture,  and  architecture.  Every  one  knows 
that,  as  a  rule,  certain  like  lines,  arches,  or  angles  are  repeated 
in  the  columns,  cornices,  doors,  windows,  and  roofs  of  build- 
ings. Few,  perhaps,  without  instruction,  recognize  that  the 
same  principle  is  true  as  applied  to  both  the  outlines  and 
colors  through  which  art  delineates  the  scenery  of  land  or 
water  or  the  limbs  of  living  creatures.  But  one  thing  almost 
all  recognize :  This  is  that,  in  the  highest  works  of  art,  every 
special  effect  repeats,  as  a  rule,  the  general  effect.  In  the 
picture  of  a  storm,  for  instance,  every  cloud,  wave,  leaf, 
bough,  repeats,  as  a  rule,  the  storm's  effect;  in  the  statue 
of  a  sufferer,  every  muscle  in  the  face  or  form  repeats,  as  a 
rule,  the  suffering's  effect;  in  the  architecture  of  a  building, 
— if  of  a  single  style, — every  window,  door,  and  dome  repeats, 
as  a  rule,  the  style's  effect. — Essentials  of  Esthetics,  xiv. 

COMPOSITION  IN  ART,  METHODS  OF  (see  CHART  ON  PAGE  89). 

Art-composition  is  influenced  first  by  mental  and  then  by 
material  considerations.  He  (the  artist)  begins  with  a 
conception  which,  in  his  mind,  is  associated  with  certain 
forms  or  series  of  forms.  To  represent  this  conception  is 
his  primary  object.  But  he  cannot  attain  it,  unless  the 
forms,  or  series  of  forms,  added  by  him  in  the  process  of 
elaboration,  continue  to  have  the  same  general  effect  as 
those  with  which  he  starts.  About  the  latter  therefore,  as 
a  nucleus,  he  arranges  other  like  forms  according  to  the 
general  method  of  comparison.  Controlled  at  first  chiefly 
by  a  desire  to  have  them  manifest  this,  in  order  to  express 
a  like  thought,  or  to  be  alike  by  way  of  congruity;  afterwards 
descending  to  details,  he  is  careful  to  make  them  alike 
by  way  of  repetition  and  consonance.     While  thus  securing 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  89 


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90  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

unity  of  effect,  however,  he  is  confronted  by  the  variety  and 
complexity  of  the  natural  forms  from  which  he  is  obliged 
to  construct  his  art-work.  But  he  soon  finds  that  these  can 
be  adapted  to  his  purposes  through  the  methods  of  contrast 
and  complement;  and,  when  it  comes  to  grouping,  he  is  able 
still  to  suggest  unity  by  fulfilling  the  requirements  of  order, 
in  spite  of  confusion,  through  counteraction  and  the  arrange- 
ment of  factors  in  accordance  with  methods  of  principality, 
subordination,  balance,  and  organic  form. — The  Genesis  of 
Art-Form,  ix. 

It  is  the  combined  result  of  the  application  of  all  of  these 
methods  that  produces  the  general  effect  termed  harmony. 
— Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color,  xxiv. 

COMPREHENSIVENESS    AS    AN   ART-METHOD    {see    CHART   ON 

PAGE   89). 

Who  that  has  heard  the  earlier  composed  overture  of 
Wagner's  **Tannhauser" — and  the  same  question  would 
apply  to  the  whole  opera  which  this  overture  represented 
and  epitomized — can  fail  to  recognize  either  how  themes 
thus  contrasted  may  add  to  the  interest,  or  how,  by  the  way 
in  which  they  complement  each  other,  they  may  augment 
the  comprehensiveness  of  the  result  ?  In  this  overture,  a  slow 
choral,  representative  of  the  religious  element,  is  at  first 
entirely  interrupted  by  wild  contrasting  movements,  repre- 
senting the  surgings  of  the  passions;  then,  after  a  little,  it 
reappears  again,  gains  strength,  and  finally  by  main  force 
seems  to  crush  the  others  down,  and  in  the  final  strain  en- 
tirely to  dominate  them.  Here,  in  the  blending  of  the  most  in- 
tensely spiritual  and  material  of  motives,  is  incongruity,  and 
with  it  a  comprehensiveness  including  the  widest  extremes. 
Yet  how  artistically  the  like  features  are  grouped  with  like, 
and  each  phase  of  expression  made  to  complement  the 
other;  and  when  the  two  clash,  how  principality  gets  the 
better  of  what  would  else  be  insubordinate,  and  reduces  all  to 
order!  Incongruity  in  such  cases  really  adds  to  the  general 
effect  of  congruity,  because  it  suggests,  as  nothing  else  could, 
the  overwhelming  power  of  that  tendency  to  produce  a  single 
effect  upon  thought,  which  finally  blends  the  whole  into  a 
unity. — The  Genesis  of  Art-Form,  ix. 

CONGRUITY  IN  ART    {see  CHART  ON   PAGE   89). 

Connecting  objects  because  of  like  effects  produced  upon 
the  mind  by  way  of    association  or   suggestion  may  be 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  91 

termed  congruity  (from  con,  together,  and  gruo,  to  grow). 
It  means  that  two  things  are  conceived  of  as  naturally- 
growing  or  going  together;  and  it  may  cause  them  to  be 
connected  when  in  reality  they  are  as  unlike  as  the  sounds  of 
a  church  bell  and  of  an  organ,  or  as  the  crape  of  a  widow's 
garb  and  a  white  face. — Ideniy  vii. 

Congruity  might  cause  the  artist  to  associate  in  a  product 
things  as  different  essentially  as  rouge  on  a  cheek  and 
blondined  hair,  or  a  hunting  song  and  the  sound  of  a  horn ; 
repetition,  on  the  contrary,  would  demand  as  much  like- 
ness as  in  the  allied  factors  of  a  piece  of  fringe,  or  of  a  picket- 
fence,  while  consonance,  half-way  between  the  two,  would 
be  satisfied  were  he  to  unite  sounds  as  different  in  some 
regards  as  those  of  the  flute,  the  trumpet,  the  violin,  and, 
the  drum,  or  shapes  as  different  in  some  regards  as  a  chim- 
ney and  a  tower,  or  a  window  and  a  porch.  In  architecture, 
a  porch  or  a  bay-window  on  one  side  of  a  building,  and  a  wing 
or  hot-house  on  the  other  side  of  it,  might  be  alike  by  way 
of  congruity.  Windows  and  doors  of  the  same  sizes  and 
shapes  would  be  alike  by  way  of  repetition;  but  merely  a 
similar  pitch  of  angles  over  windows  and  doors  and  in  the 
gables  of  a  roof  above  them,  would  be  enough  to  make  all 
alike  by  way  of  consonance. — Idem,  vii. 

CONSERVATISM   IMPORTANT   IN   ART. 

It  is  a  question  whether  the  most  enduring  work  of  even 
the  most  original  artist  is  that  in  which  he  manifests  to  the 
full  his  tendency  to  forsake  the  methods  of  his  predecessors. 
Wagner,  for  instance,  will  probably  be  remembered  chiefly 
not  for  the  extended  passages  in  his  ** Siegfried "  or  "Tristan 
und  Isolde,"  in  which  he  carried  his  theories  to  excess; 
but  for  the  passages  mainly  in  the  operas  of  his  middle  period 
in  which  his  themes  were  developed  more  in  accordance  with 
the  requirements  of  form  as  established  by  his  predecessors. 
That  he  neglected  these  requirements  is  more  evident,  per- 
haps, in  the  works  of  his  imitators  than  in  his  own. — Idem,  iii . 

CONTRAST,  AS  AN  ART-METHOD  {see  mention  of  it  under  com- 
parison, COMPLEMENT,  COMPOSITION,  HARMONY  OF  COLOR, 
IMAGINATION  AND  COMPARISON,  and  PAINTING  VS.  POETRY). 

When  the  modern  artist,  like  the  Greek,  selects  for  repre- 
sentation a  certain  part  of  nature,  he  does  so  because  he  has 
contrasted  it,  and  wishes  others  to  contrast  it,  with  the 
whole  of  nature.     When,   again,   in  certain  parts  of  his 


9*  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

picture,  he  wishes  to  bring  some  objects  into  the  foreground 
and  to  keep  others  in  the  background,  his  attempt  is  suc- 
cessful in  the  degree  in  which  light  and  shade  and  color  are 
arranged,  according  to  scientific  principles  controlling  con- 
trasts, so  that  the  objects,  as  they  appear  side  by  side, 
shall  be  not  only  separated  with  the  distinctness  found  in 
nature,  but  shall  also  produce  other  distinctively  comple- 
mentary effects  such  as  art  seems  to  require.  Moreover, 
it  is  worth  noticing  as  according  with  this  principle,  that 
the  excellence  of  subjects  as  manifestations  of  ideality  is 
measured  by  the  degree  in  which  they  admit  of  originality  in 
the  arrangement  of  contrasts.  Hence  a  fruit-piece,  in  which 
the  forms  and  colors  admit  of  little  variation,  ranks  below 
a  landscape;  a  landscape,  for  the  same  reason,  below  one 
representing  human  figures;  which  latter,  in  the  details 
both  of  line  and  color  in  posture,  countenance,  and  dress, 
admits  of  variations  almost  infinite. — Art  in  Theory,  xix. 

CONTRAST,  REPRESENTING   IMAGINATION  {SBB  IMAGINATION). 

It  is  the  effort  of  what  we  term  the  imagination — the 
effort  to  find  in  one  phenomenon  the  image  of  another,  or  to 
find  one  like  another — that  leads  the  mind  to  compare,  and 
then,  if  it  cannot  do  this,  to  contrast  the  two.  In  such 
cases,  therefore,  the  imagination  is  the  underlying  faculty 
of  mind  called  into  exercise,  comparison  the  primary  method 
in  which  it  exercises  itself,  and  contrast  the  secondary.  As 
applied  to  art,  the  primary  position  of  comparison  is  still 
further  augmented  by  the  fact  that  art-products  always 
spring  from  efforts  to  connect  motives  and  ideas,  and  to 
embody  both  in  a  single  form.  The  result  is  that  while  the 
phases  of  consciousness  represented  in  the  arts  of  sound 
begin,  as  it  were,  with  comparison,  the  forms  that  are  pro- 
duced in  these  arts,  including,  as  they  necessarily  do,  many 
things  that  are  not  alike,  involve  also  a  consciousness  and  a 
representation  of  contrast.  The  converse  is  also  true,  that 
while  the  phases  of  consciousness  represented  in  the  arts  of 
sight  begin  with  contrast,  the  production  of  a  form  which 
shall  be  true  to  the  appearances,  or,  as  in  architecture,  to  the 
formative  principles  of  nature,  necessarily  involves,  also 
the  consciousness  and  representation  of  comparison.  Only 
in  the  exercise  of  comparison  and  contrast  together  is  the 
work  of  imagination,  which  is  the  faculty  underlying  all  the 
developments  of  art,  complete. — Idem,  xx. 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  99 

CONVENTIONAL  FORM  IN   ART. 

Just  as  everybody  in  Italy,  before  the  time  of  Dante,  sup- 
posed that  literature  could  be  written  in  only  Latin,  though 
unintelligible  to  the  common  people,  so  everybody  in  these 
ages  of  decline  had  come  to  expect,  in  art,  forms  that  were 
not  natural,  and  so  far,  for  the  reasons  just  given,  not  in- 
telligible; and  all  were  disappointed  if  they  saw  anything 
else. — Essay  on  Art  and  Education. 

CORRESPONDENCES  OF  REPRESENTATIVE  FEATURES  OF  SOUND 
AND  OF  SIGHT  (see  also  REPRESENTATION  BY  ASSOCIATION). 

Sounds  may  differ  not  merely  in  duration  or  the  quantity 
of  time  that  they  fill ;  but  in  force,  or  the  stress  with  which 
they  are  produced,  making  them  loud  or  soft,  abrupt  or 
smooth,  etc. ;  also  in  quality,  making  them  sharp  or  round, 
full  or  thin,  aspirate  or  pure,  etc. ;  and  in  pitch,  making  them 
high  or  low,  or  rising  or  falling  in  the  musical  scale.  Sights, 
too,  may  differ  in  analogous  ways;  i.  e.,  not  nierely  in 
extension  or  the  quantity  of  space  that  they  fill,  which  is  the 
same  thing  as  size;  but  in  contour,  which  is  the  same  thing 
as  shape,  and  is  shown  by  the  appearance  of  forcible  or 
weak  lines  of  light  and  shade;  also  in  quality  of  color,  which 
has  to  do  with  their  tints  and  shades  and  mixtures;  and  in 
pitch  of  color,  which  is  determined  by  the  hue. 

In  addition  to  merely  stating  these  facts,  it  may  be  well 
to  enlarge  upon  one  or  two  of  them.  Notice,  for  instance, 
how  true  it  is  that  force  which  gives  emphasis  to  sounds, 
rendering  them  more  distinct  from  one  another  than  would 
be  the  cajse  without  it,  corresponds  to  light  and  shades  which 
emphasize  and  render  more  distinct  the  contour  through 
which  one  portion  of  space  having  a  certain  shape  is  clearly 
separated  from  another.  Notice,  also,  that  accented  and 
unaccented  syllables  or  notes,  as  they  alternate  in  time, 
perform  exactly  analogous  functions  to  those  of  light  and 
shade,  as  they  alternate  in  space.  The  impression  of  form, 
for  instance,  which,  so  far  as  it  results  from  metre,  is  con- 
veyed by  varying  force  and  lack  of  force  in  connection  with 
divisions  made  in  time,  is  the  exact  equivalent  of  that  im- 
pression of  form  which,  so  far  as  this  results  from  shape,  is 
conveyed  by  varying  light  and  shade  in  connection  with 
divisions  made  in  space.  Notice,  again,  that  quality  and 
pitch  are  terms  almost  as  much  used  in  painting  as  in  music, 
quality  in  colors  depending,  in  a  way  analogous  to  quality 


94  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

in  sounds,  on  the  mixture  of  hues  entering  into  the  general 
effect;  and  pitch  in  colors  depending  on  the  subdivision 
of  light  and  its  vibratory  effects.  Undoubtedly,  too,  it  is 
owing  partly  to  a  subtle  recognition  of  the  correspondences 
just  indicated  that  to  certain  effects  in  the  arts  both  of  sound 
and  of  sight  the  more  general  terms,  tone  and  color,  have 
come  to  be  applied  interchangeably.  In  connection  with 
the  various  divisions  and  subdivisions  under  which  will 
be  treated  the  different  phases  of  form  to  be  considered  it 
is  sufficient  to  say  that  duration,  limited  by  pauses  in  connec- 
tion with  force,  as  applied  to  the  accents  of  syllables  or  notes, 
gives  rise  to  rhythm;  that  extension,  limited  by  outlines  in 
connection  with  light  and  shade,  as  applied  to  contour  or 
shape,  gives  rise  to  proportion;  that  quality  and  pitch  of  tone 
taken  together  furnish  the  possibility  of  developing  the  laws 
of  the  harmony  of  sound;  and  that  quality  and  pitch  of  color 
furnish  the  same  possibility  with  reference  to  the  laws  of  the 
harmony  of  color.  It  is  important  to  notice,  too,  that  force 
or  accent,  while  having  to  do  mainly  with  rhythm,  has  a 
certain  influence  also  upon  tone — in  poetry  upon  the  tunes 
of  verse,  and  in  music  upon  the  melodic  suggestions  of 
different  degrees  of  animation;  also  that,  in  the  same  way, 
light  and  shade,  while  having  to  do  mainly  with  outline  and 
proportion,  have  a  certain  influence  also  upon  color.  They 
change  it  in  order  to  interpret  the  meaning  which  a  colored 
surface  is  intended  to  convey,  as,  for  instance,  whether  it 
is  to  represent  what  is  flat  or  round.  They  suggest,  too, 
the  vitality  characterizing  nature.  Correspondingly,  also, 
it  is  important  to  notice  that  quality  and  pitch  of  sound  are 
often  necessary  for  the  full  effects  of  force  as  applied  to 
rhythm;  and  that  the  same  elements  of  color  are  often 
necessary  for  the  full  effects  of  light  and  shade  as  applied  to 
proportion.  In  fact,  when  used  in  the  same  art,  the  differ- 
ent special  effects  that  enter  into  the  general  effects  of 
proportion  and  harmony  which  are  now  to  be  considered 
are  none  of  them  produced  exclusively  according  to  one 
method  or  to  one  combination  of  methods,  but  more  or  less 
according  to  all  of  them  when  operating  conjointly. — 
Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color,  i. 

COUNTENANCE    {see  olso  IRREGULARITY). 

The  expression  of  mere  individuality  alone  necessitates 
having  no  two  forms  or  faces  in  the  world  exactly  alike.   Yet 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  .  95 

thousands  of  them  may  be  equally  beautiful;  and  tens  of 
thousands,  though  not  equally  beautiful,  may  be  equally 
attractive ;  while,  to  the  student  of  humanity,  none  can  fail 
to  be  interesting. — Paintings  Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as 
Representative  Arts,  vi. 

COUNTENANCES  MAY  BE  REGULAR  WHEN  NOT  GRECIAN 

(see  also  regularity). 
It  must  not  be  supposed,  however,  that  countenances, 
in  order  to  meet  the  requirements  of  regularity,  need  to 
be  similar.  In  its  way,  a  dog's  face  may  be  as  regular  as 
a  man's ;  and  there  is  no  reason  why  one  human  face  should 
not  be  as  regular  as  another,  though  both  differ  almost  radi- 
cally. Of  course,  this  could  not  be  the  case,  if  by  regularity 
were  meant  conformity  to  a  certain  Greek  type,  which,  as 
must  be  confessed,  is  the  generally  accepted  supposition. 
Regularity,  however,  need  not  mean  this;  but  only  a  con- 
dition in  which  the  general  outlines  sustain  analogous  rela- 
tions to  lines  or  spaces  of  like  directions  or  measurements. 
And  there  may  be  many  different  forms  of  which  this  can  be 
affirmed,  all  corresponding  in  principle  though  not  in  the 
method  of  applying  it.  For  this  reason,  when,  as  is  probable 
nine  tenths  of  all  Americans  tell  us  that  they  consider  these 
faces  more  beautiful  than  any  conforming  to  the  Greek 
type,  they  may  be  justified.  According  to  the  laws  of  form, 
properly  interpreted,  such  faces  fulfil  the  principles  of 
proportion.  But,  besides  this,  according  to  the  laws  of 
significance,  as  derived  from  our  association  with  faces 
of  the  ordinary  American  type,  from  our  deductions  with 
reference  to  the  characteristics  manifested  by  them,  and 
from  our  sympathy  with  the  persons  possessing  such  char- 
acteristics, it  is  perfectly  in  accordance  with  aesthetic  prin- 
ciples to  say  that,  while  as  beautiful  in  form  as  are  the  Greek 
faces,  their  beauty,  to  one  of  the  race  and  country  to  which 
they  belong,  is  enhanced  on  account  of  its  significance. — 
Paintingy  Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as  Representative 
Arts,  VI. 

creative  art. 
It  was  said  that  the  arts  cannot  create.  But  it  was  not 
said  that  they  cannot  be  creative.  If  by  the  creative  we 
mean  the  power  which  seems  to  represent  divine  intelligence 
through  the  sights  and  sounds  of  nature,  what  can  more 
resemble  this  than  can  the  power  of  him  who  makes  a  further 


96  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

use  of  these  same  sights  and  sounds  for  the  purpose,  through 
them,  of  representing  his  own  thoughts  and  feelings?  Is 
it  strange  that  he  should  take  delight  and  pride  in  work  like 
this,  and  in  connection  with  it  feel  the  sources  of  the  deepest 
inspiration  stir  within  him?  Who  is  there  that  could  not 
draw  delight  and  pride  and  inspiration  from  the  conscious- 
ness of  being  in  the  least  degree  a  follower,  an  imitator,  a 
child  of  Him  who  created  the  heavens  and  the  earth? — 
Art  in  Theory,  v. 

CRITIC,   THE   DESTRUCTIVE. 

One  is  tempted  by  it  toward  the  easy  task  of  a  destructive 
critic  in  general,  and  to  the  easier  task  of  destroying  their 
reputations  in  particular.  But  a  man  who  becomes  a 
destructive  critic,  except  when  intellectual  slaughter  is 
justified  in  order  to  prevent  the  slaughter  of  the  truth  which 
he  represents,  is  one  who  has  turned  from  the  discussion  of 
principles  and  is  willing  to  imperil  the  acceptance  of  them 
for  the  empty,  often  merely  malicious  satisfaction  of  doing 
personal  harm  to  those  whom  he  should  wish  to  help.  In 
the  long  run,  to  live  and  to  let  live  is  the  wisest  way  of  serv- 
ing the  truth,  whether  of  mind  or  of  heart. — The  Genesis  of 
Art-Form,  xv. 

CRITICISM  {see  historic,  standards,  and  taste). 

CRITICISM,    destructive. 

The  only  valid  arguments  that  can  be  urged  against  any 
form  of  criticism  must  be  connected  in  some  way  with  a 
proof  that  it  is  destructive  and  not  constructive;  or  that, 
if  it  be  the  latter,  it  becomes  so  by  pointing  to  imitation  and 
not  to  invention;  or,  if  to  invention,  only  to  methods  of  it 
which  necessitate  a  departure  from  the  first  principles  of 
the  art  rather  than  a  development  of  them. — Painting, 
Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,  xxi. 

CRITICISM,  EFFECTS  OF,  ON  THE  ARTIST(5ee  olso  STANDARDS  OF)  . 

Criticism  cannot  produce  personality,  but  can  guide  it 
to  successful  performance.  It  can  prevent  that  total  waste 
of  ability  which  is  invariably  expended  upon  worthless 
products,  where  either  imitation  or  eccentricity  has  led 
taste  away  from  a  recognition  of  standards  which  are  as 
enduring  as  the  ages,  because  rationally  deduced  from  prin- 
ciples deeply  seated  in  humanity  and  in  nature.  Rules  of 
art  cannot  create  artistic  ability;  but  they  can  cultivate  it. 
They  cannot  make  a  man  a  genius;  but,  if  he  have  genius. 


^^^ 


Type  of  an  Assyrian  Square 
See  pages  g,  73,81,  82,  88,  147,  14S,  162 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  97 

they  can  enable  him  to  give  it  vent  in  such  ways  that  it  will 
exert  its  due  influence;  and,  if  he  live,  as  every  man  does, 
where  he  must  accommodate  his  productions  to  the  demands 
of  those  about  him,  the  study  of  aesthetics  can  elevate  con- 
ceptions and  tastes  so  as  to  give  a  higher  aim  to  the  efforts 
which  are  directed  to  the  satisfying  of  them.  The  born 
artist  may  be  a  ruler  of  humanity  by  divine  right ;  but  it  is 
art,  the  requirements  of  which  can  be  taught  and  learned, 
that  alone  can  give  him  his  government,  army,  palace, 
throne,  crown,  and  sceptre,  and  not  only  these,  but  the 
subjects,  too,  who  on  account  of  their  appreciation  of  the 
significance  of  these  will  acknowledge  his  authority. — 
Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color,  xxvi. 

CRITICISM,  SCIENTIFIC,  NOT  DETRIMENTAL  TO  ART. 

There  is  less  danger,  therefore,  than  is  sometimes  sup- 
posed, that  scientific  pursuits  will  diminish  the  facility  of 
one's  imagination.  There  is  always  a  possibility,  of  course, 
that  a  single  mode  of  thinking,  if  pursued  exclusively,  will 
predominate  in  the  mind;  but  if  two  modes  be  pursued 
together,  and  especially  if  one  be  pursued  for  the  direct 
purpose  of  giving  efficiency  to  the  other,  this  aim  will  cause 
both  to  be  kept  in  use,  and  counterbalance  the  possibility. 
As  a  fact,  we  find  few  instances  in  history  in  which  a  liberal 
education,  properly  subordinated,  has  proved  an  injury 
to  the  aesthetic  nature,  Milton  wrote  little  poetry  until 
he  had  finished  his  political  work.  Goethe  and  Schiller 
both  profited  much  from  the  discriminating  scientific  criti- 
cism to  which,  as  appears  in  their  correspondence,  they  were 
accustomed  to  submit  their  productions ;  at  all  events,  they 
achieved  their  greatest  successes  subsequent  to  it.  And 
with  criticism  playing  all  about  his  horizon,  like  lightnings 
from  every  quarter  of  the  heavens,  who  shall  calculate  how 
much  of  the  splendor  of  Shakespeare  is  attributable  to  this 
by-play  among  the  circle  of  dramatists  by  whom  he  was 
surrounded?  With  new  forms  rising  still  like  other  Venuses 
above  the  miasmas  of  the  old  Campagna,  who  shall  estimate 
how  much  the  excellence  of  the  Italian  artists  has  been  owing 
to  the  opportunities  afforded  in  historic  Rome  for  critical 
study? — The  Representative  Significance  of  Form,  xiii. 

CULTURE,   AS   INFLUENCED   BY   ART. 

Art,  in  all  its  phases,  is  merely  a  compend  of  lifelong 
studies  in  nature  and  in  human  conditions,  reported  by  those 


98  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

with  exceptional  powers  of  perception,  insight,  and  inference. 
If  men  are  to  become  wise,  they  must  have  experience.  If 
they  cannot  travel  and  become  personally  acquainted  with 
different  parts  of  the  world,  and  its  inhabitants,  they  must 
derive  their  experience  from  those  who  can  do  so.  There 
is  no  more  efficient  way  of  deriving  this  than  from  the  pic- 
tures, poems,  dramas,  and  novels  of  great  artists.  But  the 
effects  of  art  are  so  subtle,  they  depend  upon  so  many 
complex  causes,  that  one  can  derive  comparatively  little 
from  it,  until  he  has  learned  to  do  so.  And  when  he  has 
learned  this,  the  result  is  so  connected  with  everything  in  his 
whole  complex  constitution,  with  both  mind  and  soul,  that 
not  only  his  intellectual  but  his  spiritual  experience  is 
enlarged  almost  beyond  measure. — Essay  on  Teaching  in 
Drawing. 

CULTURE,    AS    RELATED    TO    SCIENCE    VS.    ART. 

A  scientific  specialist  with  any  amount  of  learning,  if  it 
be  merely  learning,  may  not  give  any  suggestion  of  what  is 
meant  by  culture.  A  man  may  study  science  all  his  life, 
and  never  do  it — which  fact  is  the  one  irrefutable  argument 
against  an  entirely  scientific  course  in  our  universities.  But 
it  is  impossible  for  one  to  be  a  student  of  art — a  dabbler  is 
not  meant  now,  but  a  student — and  not  begin  to  have  some 
culture,  and  this  for  the  simple  reason  that  he  is  obliged — ■ 
a  statement  which  cannot  be  made  so  absolutely  with 
reference  to  any  other  department  of  study — to  experience 
some  of  the  results  of  practice.  It  will  be  foimd,  too,  that 
the  degree  of  his  culture  will  often  depend  upon  the  degree  of 
the  thoroughness  with  which  he  has  studied  some  art  in  some 
of  its  phases. — The  Representative  Significance  of  Form,  xv. 

CULTURE,  AS  RELATED  TO  TASTE  (see  olso  TASTE). 

The  age  is  scientific,  and  the  country's  aims  are  directed 
toward  material  progress.  Both  facts  cause  us  to  empha- 
size the  real  rather  than  the  ideal,  the  substance  rather  than 
the  suggestion,  that  which  is  held  in  the  hand  rather  than 
that  which  is  conceived  in  the  brain.  In  such  conditions,  the 
phase  of  the  play-impulse  that  prompts  to  art  cannot  tend 
to  give  expression  to  its  highest  possibilities.  A  cowboy  of 
the  West  could  take  little  pleasure  in  the  Seventh  Symphony, 
the  "Excursion,"  the  "Sistine  Madonna,"  the  "Dying 
Gladiator,"  or  Roslyn  Chapel;  and,  for  this  reason,  no 
artist  of  the  Western  plains  would  be  stimulated  to  produce 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  ^99 

its  like.  But  taste  in  appreciation  or  production  can  be 
cultivated;  and,  in  the  degree  in  which  it  is  cultivated,  a 
new  realm  of  thought  will  open  for  a  man,  and  with  it  a 
recognition,  hitherto  not  experienced,  of  those  almost 
infinite  correspondences  between  spiritual  and  material 
relationships  which  every  great  product  of  art  manifests. 
Thus  gradually  the  mind  will  enter  a  region  of  thought  in 
which  the  play-impulse,  which,  at  first,  is  satisfied  to  expend 
its  energies  upon  the  merely  apparent  and  superficial,  will 
care  for  more  than  a  fife  and  drum,  a  jingle  of  rhyme,  a  dash 
of  color,  a  trick  of  chiselling,  or  an  incongruous  pile  of  stone 
and  mortar.  The  mind  will  not  be  satisfied  unless,  at  times 
and  often,  music,  poetry,  painting,  sculpture,  and  architec- 
ture suggest  the  profound  and  the  sublime;  in  fact,  unless 
the  humanities  have  had  their  perfect  work,  and  art  has 
become  humanizing  in  all  of  its  relations.  To  open  such  a 
region  to  the  mind,  has  been  the  object  of  the  work  of  which 
these  volumes  contain  the  records. — Proportion  and  Har- 
mony of  Line  and  Color,  xxvi. 

CULTURE,   WHAT  IT  IS. 

What,  according  to  the  conceptions  of  men  in  general,  is 
a  man  of  culture?  Does  not  the  following  describe  him? 
He  is  one  who  has  been  educated  in  the  sense  of  having 
been  trained ;  who  has  not  only  a  brain  but  a  working  brain ; 
who  is  prepared  therefore  to  deal  not  only  with  information 
but  with  suggestion ;  a  man  whose  aims  in  study — to  express 
his  condition  in  terms  to  accord  with  the  general  thought 
presented  in  this  volume — ^have  regarded  duly  both  the 
conscious  and  the  subconscious  powers  of  mind;  a  man 
whose  memory  is  able  to  recall  from  his  own  experience 
and  that  of  others,  from  history  current  and  past,  from 
books  and  life,  the  scores  and  hundreds  of  associated 
facts  and  fancies  teeming  about,  and  through,  and  be- 
yond the  immediate  object  of  consideration;  a  man 
whose  sphere  of  thought  belongs,  therefore,  not  to  the 
small  but  to  the  great,  not  to  the  single  but  to  the  uni- 
versal; a  man  whose  whole  nature  is  open  to  the  cur- 
rents of  tendency  moving  in  upon  him  from  all  directions, 
and  is  prepared  both  to  apprehend  and  to  comprehend, 
to  appreciate  and  to  appropriate  whatever  truth  may 
loom  from  any  quarter. — The  Representative  Significance  of 
Form,  XV. 


100  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

DECLINE   IN   ART. 

It  is  a  fact  overlooked  by  many  how  rapidly  art,  owing 
to  its  other  necessarily  imitative  methods,  when  it  once 
begins  to  decline,  continues  to  do  so.  The  sense  of  pro- 
portion in  the  human  face  and  form  was  entirely  lost  once, 
and  recovered  again,  during  the  period  of  the  art  of  ancient 
Egypt.  It  was  lost  in  Europe  all  the  time  between  the  third 
and  thirteenth  centuries.  It  has  been  lost  many  times  in 
China  and  Japan.  In  architecture,  as  developed  in  Greece, 
the  same  sense  was  lost  before  Rome  was  in  its  prime.  It 
continued  lost  till  the  rise  of  Gothic  architecture.  It  is  lost 
again  in  our  own  time.  The  simplest  principles  of  propor- 
tional perspective,  which  the  Greek  applied  to  buildings 
precisely  as  we  do  to  pictures,  are  not  merely  misappre- 
hended, but  are  not  considered  possible  cither  of  apprehen- 
sion or  of  application  by  our  foremost  architects. — Essay 
on  Art  and  Education. 

DECLINE,    NATIONAL,    ATTRIBUTED   TO  ART. 

It  has  been  seriously  maintained  by  certain  writers  that 
the  development  of  art  in  a  nation  is  contemporaneous  with 
its  intellectual  and  politic?!,  but  especially  with  its  social 
and  moral,  decline.  At  first  thought,  too,  this  theory  has 
seemed  well  founded.  Though  not  true  of  poetry,  the  fine 
arts  never  reveal  their  full  possibilities  in  any  land,  until 
many  individuals  have  come  to  have  sufficient  wealth  and 
leisure  to  enable  them  to  become  patrons  or  producers  of 
that  which  is  ornamental  as  well  as  useful.  Nor  does  de- 
cline come  to  a  nation  until  exactly  the  same  conditions 
of  wealth  and  leisure  have  caused  many  to  care  more  for 
luxury  than  for  right  living.  There  is,  therefore,  a  certain 
connection  between  artistic  development  and  national 
decline.  The  connection,  however,  is  not  that  of  cause  and 
effect,  but  merely  of  coincidence.  Indeed,  considered  in  this 
light  only,  a  more  careful  study  of  history  will  reveal  that  the 
connection  is  by  no  means  as  close  or  inevitable  as  is  some- 
times represented.  As  a  fact,  centuries  elapsed  between  the 
age  of  Pericles  and  the  intellectual  and  political  decline  of 
ancient  Greece.  Rome  survived  by  almost  as  long  a  time 
her  most  flourishing  period  of  architecture  and  sculpture. 
Other  agencies  than  those  of  art  could  be  shown  to  underlie 
the  partial  decline  of  Italy  and  Spain  between  the  seven- 
teenth  and  nineteenth   centuries;  and  there  is  no  indis- 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  C0MMB.nTS.\v :' ^ ;;,.  :.,ip| 

putable  proof  of  any  deterioration  whatever  in  any  of  the 
other  nations  of  Europe  as  a  consequence  of  their  artistic 
activity  during  the  last  three  centuries. — Essay  on  Art  and 
Morals. 

DECORATIVE  VS.  PICTORIAL  ART  {see  olso  PAINTING). 

Decorative  differs  from  pictorial  art,  primarily,  in  the 
motive.  In  a  picture,  color  is  used  in  order  to  reproduce  an 
appearance  of  nature.  In  decoration  it  is  used  for  its  own 
sake.  While  in  the  former,  therefore,  all  possible  shades  and 
tints  may  be  introduced,  so  long  as,  in  some  way,  they  can 
be  made  to  harmonize ;  in  the  latter,  those  only  ought  to 
be  introduced  which  of  themselves  harmonize  naturally. 
Connected  with  this  difference  in  motive,  is  the  same  differ- 
ence that  was  noticed  on  page  175  of  "Rhythm  and  Har- 
mony in  Poetry  and  Music"  between  sounds  in  speech  and 
in  music.  In  the  one,  every  possible  degree  of  pitch  may  be 
used;  in  the  other,  only  certain  degrees  separated  from  one 
another  by  decided  intervals.  Of  course,  the  method  of 
gradation  is  exemplified  both  in  pictures  and  decoration ;  but 
in  decoration  the  colors  used  are,  as  a  rule,  separated  from 
one  another  by  more  decided  intervals,  such  as  are  indi- 
cated in  the  color-chart  on  page  334;  and  they  are  more  apt 
to  be  full  hues,  than  light  or  dark  modifications  of  these 
such  as  are  generally  found  in  painting.  These  hues  are 
placed,  sometimes,  side  by  side;  but  they  produce  better 
effects  when  separated  by  black,  white,  gold,  or  silver  lines, 
which  lessen  the  influence  of  the  adjoining  colors  on  one 
another.  Moreover,  while  painting  deals  largely  with  the 
greens,  light  blues,  and  grays  predominating  in  the  world 
about  us,  decoration  shows  a  large  use  of  the  reds,  oranges, 
yellows,  and  dark  blues,  as  if  one  design  of  it  were  to  produce 
contrasts  to  the  colors  seen  in  nature.  Again,  as  imitation 
of  form  or  outline  in  decoration  is  often  of  little  importance, 
almost  the  entire  effect  depending  upon  the  selection  and 
arrangement  of  colors,  it  is  still  more  necessary  than  in 
painting  that  these  should  be  grouped  so  as  to  fulfil  strictly 
scientific  principles. — Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  arid 
Color,  XXV. 

DEGENERATION   IN  ART. 

Does  this  comment  seem  to  involve  treating  evident 
absurdities  too  seriously?  Does  any  one  feel  prompted  to 
excuse  them  because  they  are  merely  manifestations  of  a 


i<J(ir.,^/'?,;;^':;:a1V  AST-PEILOSOPHEKS  CABINET 

Species  of  play?  So,  as  shown  in  Chapter  VII.  of  *'Art  in 
Theory, "  is  all  art.  The  point  to  be  observed  is  that  the 
manner  of  the  play  reveals  the  matter  of  the  art-conception. 
Besides  this,  it  is  important  to  observe,  too,  that,  owing  to 
the  necessarily  imitative  action  of  the  mind  in  connection 
with  all  art-development,  nothing  can  degenerate  quite  so 
rapidly,  when  allowed  once  to  start  in  the  wrong  direction, 
as  art  can.  If  any  one  doubts  that  we  are  getting  ready,  at 
short  notice,  to  take  a  stride  all  the  way  back  to  the  artistic 
conditions  of  the  middle  ages,  it  might  be  well  for  him  to 
ponder  the  facts  just  mentioned.  Why  are  they  facts? 
There  can  be  only  one  of  two  reasons, — either  because  too 
few  inventive  brains  are  left  among  our  artists  to  give  us 
products  representative  both  of  mind  and  of  nature;  or 
else  because  too  few  aesthetic  brains  are  left  among  our 
patrons  of  art  to  make  demands  upon  the  artists  which  will 
necessitate  their  finding  out  exactly  what  art  is. — Paintings 
Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,  xii. 

DESIGN,    WHAT   IT   IMPLIES. 

A  cousin  of  mine  went  to  a  ball.  He  came  back  raving 
about  a  young  miss  fresh  from  the  country  who  had  fas- 
cinated him  there.  A  few  days  later,  he  was  told  that  she 
was  an  experienced  coquette  who  had  long  been  out  of  her 
teens.  Then  he  began  to  talk  of  her  arts,  he  began  to  recog- 
nize in  her  a  creature  of  design.  And  we  shall  find  that 
universally  when  we  speak  of  art,  whether  of  its  lowest  or 
highest  manifestations, — all  the  way  from  sighs  to  sym- 
phonies or  canes  to  cathedrals, — we  mean  something  which 
is  a  manifestation  of  design. — Art  in  Theory,  i. 

DETAILS,     COPIED     MAINLY     IN     LATE      DEVELOPMENTS     OF 
IMITATIVE    WORK. 

Now,  with  this  thought  in  mind,  turning  again  to  the 
other  arts,  notice  that  an  increase  in  the  imitation  of  the  de- 
tails of  natural  appearances  has  a  tendency  to  increase  the 
same  in  the  treatment  determining  the  general  outlines 
also.  As  a  rule  the  general  plot,  i.  e.,  the  general  outline, 
of  a  ballad  has  to  do  mainly  with  mere  events;  the  plot  of 
an  epic,  which  comes  later,  with  details  concerning  the 
persons  engaged  in  these  events;  the  plot  of  a  drama,  which 
comes  still  later,  with  additional  details  representing  the 
characters  of  these  persons ;  and  the  plot  of  a  descriptive — 
as  distinguished  from  a  narrative — poem,  which  comes  yet 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  103 

more  late,  with  added  details  representing  one's  natural 
surroundings.  So  in  music.  Only  in  later  compositions, 
as  in  the  oratorios  of  Haydn,  or  the  operas  of  Wagner,  is  the 
plot  unfolded  by  so  analogous  or  imitative  a  use  of  harmony 
that  the  melody  is  reduced  to  recitative.  So  too  in  painting 
and  sculpture.  A  reproduction  of  the  general  outlines  of 
form,  as  by  the  painters  of  the  middle  ages,  was  once  con- 
sidered all  that  was  necessary.  Now  there  are  schools  of 
criticism  whose  sole  applied  test  of  excellence  seems  to  be 
accuracy  in  the  delineation  of  the  minutiae  of  appearance. — 
Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts, 

XXI. 

In  accordance,  now,  with  everything  that  has  been  said 
in  this  volume,  let  us  notice  the  order  of  the  development  of 
the  representation  of  appearances  in  architecture  as  fulfill- 
ing the  principles  of  correspondence  by  way,  first,  of  associa- 
tion or  suggestion;  and,  later,  of  comparison  or  imitation. 
On  page  8  it  was  said  that  in  association  things  are  con- 
nected that  have  a  like  general  effect,  though  they  may  not 
seem  alike  in  their  details;  whereas  in  comparison  things 
are  connected  that  in  their  details  as  well  as  in  their  general 
effects  seem  alike.  In  strict  conformity  with  this  order  of 
representative  development,  notice  that  in  poetry,  music, 
painting,  and  sculpture,  the  first  effect  which  the  primitive 
artist  tries  to  reproduce  is  a  general  outline  of  something, 
either  of  a  story,  or  of  a  method  of  intonation,  as  in  a  rude 
ballad  or  chant;  or  of  a  figure  of  a  man  or  a  beast,  as  in  a 
rude  sketch  by  pencil  or  chisel.  Notice,  too,  that  even  when 
the  desire  for  ornamentation  is  quite  strong,  he  is  satisfied, 
at  first,  merely  by  emphasizing  the  factors  of  outline  as  in 
measures  and  verses,  or  in  colors  and  shadings.  The  early 
poet  does  not  usually  give  that  careful  attention  to  minutiae, 
which  in  more  civilized  times  causes  a  distinctively  poetic 
style,  and  he  never  has  what  is  termed  a  flowery  style,  by 
which,  as  usually  interpreted,  is  meant  a  style  excessively 
full  of  comparisons.  Nor  does  the  earlier  musician  make 
any  attempt  at  the  significant  accompaniments  and  florid 
variations  which  come  later;  nor  does  the  earlier  painter  or 
sculptor  imitate  in  color  or  line  the  less  obvious  appearances 
of  surfaces  and  textures.  So  with  architects.  .  .  .  long 
after  pillars  were  given  capitals  and  care  was  taken  with  the 
arrangements  of  entablatures  and  pediments,  no  ornamenta- 
tion appeared  except  in  the  way  of  giving  additional  em- 


104  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

phasis  to  their  necessary  characteristics.  But  just  as  the 
straight  onward  flow  of  poetic  style  begins,  after  it  passes 
the  ballad  period,  to  be  filled  up  with  allusions,  mainly 
associative  and  suggestive,  and  after  that  with  minute 
descriptions  of  flowers,  plants,  streams,  mountains,  and  the 
various  men  and  living  creatures  that  can  be  seen  surround- 
ing one,  so  the  straight  onward  lines  of  architectural  style, 
when  it  gets  beyond  the  archaic  period,  begin  to  be  filled  up 
with,  first,  associative  suggestions,  and  after  that  with  care- 
ful imitations  of  the  appearances  of  nature.  .  .  .  Yet,  at 
first,  the  imitation  is  only  partial.  That  is,  parts  of  certain 
natural  forms  are  copied,  but  they  are  not  put  together  as 
in  nature.  .  .  .  Later  than  these  partially  imitated 
figures,  though  now,  of  course,  often  found  in  the  same 
buildings  with  them,  come  those  that  are  fully  imitated, 
— the  method  of  dealing  with  forms,  which  we  find  in  the 
later  decorated  Gothic. — Idem,  xx. 

DISCORD  IN  ART  {see  olso  BEAUTY  ATTRIBUTED  TO  HARMONY, 

and  harmony)  . 
It  is  difficult  to  conceive  how  a  man  who  has  never  studied 
the  subject  at  all  can  fail  to  detect  the  blunders  in  some  of 
the  discords  above.  Certainly  few  children  playing  with 
building  blocks  would  make  mistakes  analogous  to  them. 
The  outline  of  the  toy  houses  that  they  construct  are  usu- 
ally consonant  at  least.  Why  is  this  not  the  case  with  those 
planned  by  architects  ?  For  the  same  reason,  probably,  that 
many  in  other  arts — musicians,  elocutionists,  painters — 
owing  to  false  methods  of  studying  or  of  applying  rules, 
seem  to  be  unable  to  sing,  speak,  or  color  in  a  natural  way. 
Certain  methods  of  studying  or  applying  the  law^s  of  archi- 
tecture seem  to  have  a  corresponding  effect.  Those  who 
should  be  conversant  with  them  neglect  to  exemplify  require- 
ments that  are  the  most  instinctive  of  which  we  know. — • 
The  Genesis  of  Art- Form,  xv. 

DRAMATIC  ART    {see  olso  EPIC). 

Like  marriage  and  religion,  dramatic  art  is  one  of  those 
human  activities  to  which,  as  things  are,  no  one  can  put  an 
end;  and,  at  certain  periods — as,  for  instance,  at  the  time  of 
the  morality  plays — its  influence  has  been  just  the  contrary 
of  debasing.  What  is  needed  is  an  endeavor  not  to  abolish 
but  to  correct;  and,  so  far  as  the  nature  of  art  has  been 
misunderstood,  a  first  step  in  doing  this  must  be  taken  by 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  I05 

giving  people  more  accurate  conceptions  with  reference  to 
what  art  really  requires. — Essay  on  Art  and  Morals. 

DRAMATIC  ART  DEALING  WITH  HISTORY. 

Just  as  a  magnifying  glass  modifies  all  the  points  of  inter- 
est in  an  object  to  which  it  is  applied,  so  it  seems  permissible 
at  times  for  imaginative  art  to  do — in  case,  like  the  glass,  it 
does  not  change  the  relative  proportions  of  the  parts  to  one 
another  and  to  the  whole.  A  poet,  like  a  painter,  has  a 
right  to  increase  the  interest  and  beauty  of  the  life  that 
furnishes  his  model  by  means  of  the  medium — the  modern 
medium  too — through  which  he  is  supposed  to  contemplate 
it.  Otherwise,  the  subject  with  which  he  deals  could  not 
be  treated  from  a  present  and  poetic  view-point,  and  his 
works  would  not  be  worth  the  ink  expended  on  them.  All 
the  consideration  for  truth  which  it  seems  reasonable  to 
expect  of  the  historic  dramatist  is  that,  in  a  medium,  the 
component  parts  of  which  are  necessarily  made  up  of  the 
language  and  methods  of  thought  natural  to  his  own  time, 
he  should  represent,  in  their  relative  proportions,  the  par- 
ticular motives  and  feelings  as  well  as  the  general  atmos- 
phere of  thought  natural  to  the  conditions  existing  at  the 
time  of  the  events  forming  the  basis  of  his  plot. — Introduc- 
tion to  ''The  Aztec  God.'' 

DRAMATIC  ART,   IN  A  CLASS   BY  ITSELF. 

Take  the  dramatic  art — a  better  term,  by  the  way,  than 
histrionic,  though  perhaps,  because  liable  to  be  confounded 
with  dramatic  literature,  not  so  distinctive  a  term  as 
dramatics — take  this  art.  In  important  particulars,  it 
certainly  stands  at  the  centre  of  the  higher  aesthetic  system, 
containing  in  itself,  as  it  does,  the  germs  of  all  its  artistic 
possibilities.  It  may  use  not  alone  the  sustained  intona- 
tions of  the  voice  that  are  developed  into  melody  and  music, 
but  also  the  unsustained  articulations  that  are  developed 
into  language  and  poetry ;  and  besides  these,  too,  it  may  use 
the  posturing  in  connection  with  surrounding  scenes  and 
persons  and  stage  settings  that  are  developed  into  painting, 
sculpture,  and  architecture.  Why  then  is  it  not  usually 
included  in  the  same  class  with  music,  poetry,  painting, 
sculpture,  and  architecture?  Is  not  this  the  reason? — 
Because  its  effects  result  mainly  from  the  use  of  means  of 
expression  that  are  connected  with  the  artist's  own  body, 
whereas  the  other  arts  necessitate  the  use  and  consequent 


io6  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

production  of  a  medium  of  expression  that  is  external  to  him. 
There  is  Httle  doubt  that  externaHty  in  this  sense  is  import- 
ant in  order  to  give  completeness  to  the  conception  of  a 
product  of  art  as  a  thing  that  is  made. — Art  in  Theory y  ix. 

DRAWING,    INFLUENCE   OF   INSTRUCTION   IN. 

As  we  sit  in  our  homes  and  examine  our  surroundings,  we 
discover  in  them  artistic  appearances  infinitely  beyond  the 
number  of  those  which  any  one  man,  looking  at  the  World 
about  him,  could  suppose  that  this  could  in  any  way  suggest. 
These  appearances  are  everywhere,  whether  we  look  at  the 
carpet,  wall-paper,  table-service,  bric-^-brac,  or  furniture. 
As  manifested  in  all  these  places,  they  indicate  the  exact 
degree  of  the  taste  of  those  who  have  made  or  have  pur- 
chased them.  Much  of  this  taste,  too,  as  well  as  the  ability 
to  express  it  in  production,  has  been  cultivated  in  children 
when  learning  to  draw  and  color.  But  this  is  not  all. 
Dependent  primarily  on  the  same  taste  and  ability,  are  the 
house  itself,  the  garden  surrounding  it,  the  town  in  which  it 
stands,  with  its  business  blocks  and  churches,  the  county 
with  its  roads  and  parks,  and  the  whole  country  with  its 
harbors,  canals,  and  railways,  with  all  the  century's  various 
methods  of  development  and  transportation.  All  these 
necessitate,  on  the  part  of  promoters  or  inventors,  the  draw- 
ing of  plans,  plots,  charts,  maps,  and  designs.  If  so,  it  may 
be  doubted  whether,  after  reading,  writing,  and  arithmetic, 
any  branch  of  instruction  begins  the  knowledge  of  that 
which  is  destined  to  prove  more  generally  useful  in  life,  than 
does  instruction  in  drawing. — Essay  on  Teaching  in  Drawing. 

DRILL  IN  EDUCATION  (see  olso  INSPIRED,  PRACTICE,  and  SKILL). 

We  need  to  have  impressed  upon  our  minds  the  fact  that 
drill  and  discipline  are  not  merely  a  subordinate  function, — 
they  are  the  chief  function  of  education  up  to  the  period  of 
adolescence.  Studies  intended  merely  to  inform  or  explain, 
instead  of  being  crowded  down,  as  now,  into  periods  earlier 
than  this,  should  be  crowded  up  and  out, — not  because  they 
have  no  importance,  but  because,  at  this  period,  other 
mental  requirements  that  it  is  impossible  to  cultivate  later 
in  life  have  greater  importance.  Exactly  the  same  method 
pursued  in  making  a  scholar  in  music  should  be  pursued  in 
making  any  scholar.  You  want  the  man  when  grown  to 
be  well  informed.  Very  well,  then,  you  must  sharpen  his 
memory  when  young,  so  that  the  information  that  he  gets 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  107 

when  older  will  stick.  You  want  the  man,  when  grown, 
to  be  a  thinker.  Very  well,  then,  when  young  you  must 
keep  his  mind  awake  by  quizzing — tickling  it,  even  in 
the  sense  of  playing  with  it.  Such  questioning  will  accus- 
tom him  to  search  for  what  is  inside  his  mind,  to  dive  into 
the  depths  of  consciousness  and  to  bring  every  link  in  the 
chain  of  thought  to  the  light.  Hypnotize  him,  and  you  will 
find  that,  however  hidden,  what  you  want  is  inside  of  him. 
He  has  not  forgotten  or  lost  any  fact  or  principle  that  ever 
was  his.  He  merely  fails  to  be  able  to  recall  or  use  it.  If 
you  train  him  properly,  he  can  do  both. — Essay  on  Music 
as  Related  to  Other  Arts. 

EARLIER  ART  PRODUCTS  {see  also  HOMER). 

Who  has  not  asked  himself  why  it  is  that  to-day  we  find 
so  many  of  the  best  models  of  art  in  all  its  branches  among 
the  earlier  products  of  the  kind?  And  what  is  the  answer? 
Is  not  one  reason  to  be  found  in  the  fact  that,  in  the  absence 
of  specimens  of  the  sister  arts  which  crowd  around  and 
confuse  the  aims  of  the  modern  workman,  the  ancient  one 
was  in  a  better  condition  to  confine  himself  to  the  legitimate 
promptings  of  the  phase  of  consciousness  natural  to  his  own 
art  ? — The  Representative  Significance  of  Form,  xxv. 

EDUCATION   INVOLVES   HARD   WORK. 

One  theory  of  our  modern  educational  quacks — who  seem 
to  have  forgotten  the  experiences  of  their  youth  because 
only  imagination,  which  they  have  not,  is  able  to  recall  them 
— ^is  that  education  should  not  be  made  either  hard  or  dis- 
ciplinary; on  the  theory  that  it  cannot  thus  be  made  enter- 
taining,— as  if  it  could  not  be,  at  one  and  the  same  time, 
both, — as  if  the  mind,  like  the  body,  did  not  enjoy  exertion, 
and  the  triumph  of  overcoming,  in  the  very  degree  of  the 
difficulty  involved!  The  idea  of  recommending  a  game  to 
a  growing  boy  on  the  ground  of  its  being  easy !  In  the  olden 
times,  some  of  the  most  pleasant  hours  of  almost  every 
childhood  were  spent  when  all  the  school  were  assembled 
together,  in  order  to  be  drilled.  Of  course,  such  a  method 
of  teaching,  to  be  interesting,  requires  an  interesting  instruc- 
tor; but  so  does  any  successful  method  of  teaching. — Essay 
on  Music  as  Related  to  Other  Arts. 

EFFECTIVENESS  OF  WORKS  OF  ART. 

There  is  a  sense,  too,  in  which  this  art  is  often  able  to 
repeat  the  most  effective  even  of  nature's  operations  in  the 


io8  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

most  effective  way.  What  is  it  in  nature  that  operates  the 
most  powerfully  ?  Not  the  wind  or  fire  or  earthquake,  but 
rather  the  still  small  voice,  sighing  for  us  in  the  silence  of  our 
reveries.  So  in  the  works  of  man,  not  in  the  railway  or  the 
telegraph,  in  the  rattle  or  the  flash  of  material  forces  that 
deafen  or  dazzle  us,  do  we  apprehend  the  presence  of  the 
most  resistless  power.  Just  as  frequently,  more  frequently, 
perhaps,  we  recognize  it  in  connection  with  those  products 
of  art  which,  though  they  seemingly  may  influence  activity 
as  slightly  as  the  ministering  angels  of  a  dream,  yet,  like 
them  too,  come  often  summoning  souls  to  high  companion- 
ship, and  everything  that  this  can  signify,  with  all  that  is 
most  true  and  good  and  beautiful. — Art  in  Theory,  ii. 

ELLIPSIS,  AS  USED  IN  POETRY  {see  also  OBSCURITY). 

There  is  a  significant  connection  between  these  effects 
and  the  use  of  the  rhetorical  hiatus  and  ellipsis  which  are 
so  general  in  poetry,  and  so  generally  regarded  as  legitimate. 
These  figures  of  speech  seem  invariably  to  suggest  that  the 
thoughts  of  the  writer  are  moving  forward  in  time,  and 
that  he  must  not  try  to  elaborate  them.  He  must  hurry  on 
to  something  else.  In  the  majority  of  cases,  too,  hiatus 
follows  a  reference  to  something  that  is  aside  from  the  main 
line  of  thought,  something  that  the  writer  conceives  of  as 
existing  side  by  side  with  that  with  which  he  is  dealing, 
something  involving,  therefore,  an  appeal  that  is  suggestive 
to  the  imagination.  One  secret  of  Robert  Browning's 
power  lay  in  this  use  of  ellipsis.  But  he  sometimes  carried 
the  figure  too  far. — The  Representative  Significance  of  Form, 

XXII. 

Omission  or  ellipsis  is  an  exaggeration  of  terseness  in 
style,  which  is  often  a  great  excellence.  In  all  kinds  of 
writing,  but  especially  in  that  appealing  to  the  imagination, 
it  is  a  fault  to  express  too  much.  Those  to  whom  poetry 
is  naturally  addressed  derive  their  main  satisfaction,  and 
therefore  interest,  from  that  which  influences  them  in  the 
way  of  suggestion,  leaving  their  fancies  free  to  range  where 
and  as  they  will. — Poetry  as  a  Representative  A  rt,  xiv. 

ELLIPTIC-LANCEOLATE    SHAPE   AS    USED   IN   ART. 

Dr.  M.  Foster  says  in  his  *' Text-Book  of  Physiology," 
sec.  ii.,  on  Binocular  Vision — that  "when  we  use  both  eyes 
a  large  part  of  the  visual  field  of  each  eye  overlaps  that  of 
the  other;  but  that,  nevertheless,  at  the  same  time,    a 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  109 

certain  part  of  each  visual  field  does  not  so  overlap  any  part 
of  the  other.  The  dimensions  of  the  field  of  sight  for  one 
eye  will,  .  .  .  be  approximately  circular. "  But,  so  far  as 
this  is  true,  notice  that  the  whole  field  of  sight — not  for  one 
eye,  but  for  both  eyes  when  acting  conjointly — is  repre- 
sented neither  by  the  single  circle  .  .  .  nor  by  .  .  .  two 
separated  circles ;  but  rather  by  the  space  enclosed  between 
.  .  .  two  circumferences  of  the  circles  where  they  overlap, 
.  .  .  This  space  has  the  shape  termed  by  botanists 
elliptic  lanceolate, — an  ellipse  pointed;  and  of  all  outlines 
wholly  curved,  those  of  an  upright  elHpse  fit  into  it  most 
nearly. 

The  bearing  of  this  upon  our  present  subject  is  found  in 
the  fact  that  the  whole  of  a  form  facing  us  can  be  recognized 
with  ease,  i.  e.,  in  a  single  glance,  or,  at  least,  a  single  con- 
scious glance,  in  the  degree  in  which  it  is  conformed  to 
vertical  elhp tic-lanceolate  outlines.  Indeed,  this  fact  thus 
theoretically  unfolded,  can  be  confirmed  by  practical  experi- 
ments. If  we  describe  at  the  nearest  point  at  which  it  is 
posible  to  perceive  all  its  outlines,  an  ellipse  longer  vertically 
than  horizontally,  and  about  it  a  circle  of  the  same  diameter 
as  the  vertical  length  of  the  ellipse,  there  will  be  not  a  few 
who  will  find  it  slightly  more  easy  at  a  single  glance,  or  with- 
out consciously  changing  the  axis  of  the  eye,  to  perceive  all 
the  outlines  of  the  former  than  of  the  latter.  If  we  describe 
about  the  circle  and  ellipse  a  square  of  the  same  diameter  as 
the  circle,  no  one  can  see  all  its  outlines  without  consciously 
changing  the  axis  of  the  eye,  as  when  glancing  from  corner 
to  corner;  and  if  we  describe  about  the  square  a  rectangle  of 
the  same  vertical  but  twice  the  horizontal  dimensions,  we 
cannot  see  all  its  outlines  without  changing  the  axis  still 
more  consciously. 

In  the  use  of  the  eyes,  the  difference  between  movement 
and  no  movement,  or  no  conscious  movement,  is  the  differ- 
ence between  activity,  work,  or  effort,  and  rest,  play,  or 
enjoyment.  But  this  is  the  same  difference  as  in  Chapter 
III.  of  this  book  is  said  to  separate  that  which  is  done  with 
a  utilitarian  aim  and  an  aesthetic.  If  a  form  of  outline 
naturally  fitting  into  the  shape  of  an  upright  elliptical 
figure,  be  the  one  which  requires,  to  recognize  it,  the  least 
visual  activity,  work,  or  effort,  then  this  form  must  be  the 
one  most  conformed  to  the  physiological  requirements  of  the 
eye.     In  other  words,  it  is  the  form  most  in  harmony  with 


no  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

these  requirements ;  therefore  the  most  agreeable,  the  most 
pleasurable,  the  most  ''fitted  to  be  perceived,"  which  is 
the  exact  etymological  meaning  of  the  word  (Esthetic.  This 
fact  furnishes  the  best  possible  justification  for  calling  the 
curve — particularly,  as  we  shall  notice  presently,  the  one 
found  in  the  ellipse — the  line  of  beauty. 

What  has  been  thus  found  to  be  true  with  reference  to 
the  elliptical  contour,  renders  significant  many  whole 
classes  of  facts  with  which  few  of  us  can  fail  to  be  familiar. 
Recall,  for  instance,  the  extensive  use  in  art  of  this  elliptical 
shape.  If  we  go  into  the  shops  where  they  sell  implements 
for  drawing,  whatever  else  they  may  not  keep,  assortments 
of  models  for  different  sizes  of  ellipses  are  sure  to  meet  our 
eyes.  The  one  ornamental  object,  avowedly  not  modelled 
after  an  appearance  in  nature,  which  the  arts  of  all  lands 
and  races  have  united  in  producing,  is  the  vase;  and  this  is 
almost  invariably  conformed  to  vertical  elliptic-lanceolate 
outlines.  Again,  in  architecture,  the  form  that  general 
usage  has  shown  to  be  the  most  satisfactory  is  one  which, 
whether  we  consider  it  as  exemplified  in  the  cupola  or  the 
dome,  is  .  .  .  described  within  the  space  enclosed  between 
circles  .  .  .  and  even  if  the  building  be  wide,  the  form 
preferred  for  this  is  one  containing  at  least  a  central  part 
which  .  .  .  it  is  possible  to  enclose  in  such  a  space. 
Notice,  too,  how  the  human  form  as  a  whole  fits  into  the 
same  elliptic-lanceolate  shape. — The  Essentials  of  Esthetics, 

XVI. 

ELOCUTION  A  GUIDE  TO   RHETORIC. 

A  man  who  knows  just  where  to  pause  and  emphasize  in 
order  to  produce  the  best  elocutionary  effects,  will  know  also 
how  to  arrange  his  words  the  most  effectively  when  writing. 
Still  greater  will  be  the  influence  of  the  same  fact  upon  his 
oratorical  rhetoric.  He  will  instinctively  come  to  present 
his  thoughts  not  only  rhythmically  but  emphatically.  His 
good  elocution  will  secure  him  an  audience  when  he  speaks, 
and  often,  too,  when  what  he  speaks  is  put  into  print. — 
Essay  on  Elocution  in  the  Theological  Seminary. 

ELOCUTION,  AS  INTERPRETING  THE  ART  PRINCIPLE. 

The  form  to  which  the  elocutionist  must  apply  the  result 
of  technique  is  a  part  of  himself.  Therefore,  he,  of  all  artists, 
is  least  liable,  in  his  own  conceptions,  to  divorce  the  form  of 
expression  from  the  significance  of  expression.     Take  any 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  iii 

elocutionary  system  and  you  will  see  the  truth  of  this, — 
that  of  Delsarte,  for  instance.  What  does  it  suggest  ?  To 
half  of  us  the  importance  and  possibility  of  accurately 
representing  significance  in  the  form.  But  to  the  other 
half,  it  suggests  gymnastic  technique — the  importance  and 
possibility  of  adapting  the  form  to  every  possible  require- 
ment of  grace.  At  the  same  time,  to  all  of  us  it  suggests 
something  of  both  conceptions.  Such  a  result  is  not  so 
inevitable  in  any  other  art.  Nor  is  it  an  unimportant 
mission  of  elocution,  as  I  conceive,  to  make  it  inevitable  in 
all  the  arts.  But,  while  doing  this,  and  because  doing  it, 
our  branch  of  instruction  has  a  broader  mission  still.  What, 
as  well  as  it,  can  enable  a  man  to  realize  that  he  has  a  soul 
of  which  his  body  is  merely  an  instrument,  an  instrument 
that  can  be  made  to  signal  any  purpose,  or  to  trumpet  any 
call?  And  the  man  who  recognizes  that  the  human  form 
can  be  transfigured  by  the  influence  of  soul, — is  not  he  the 
one  most  likely  to  recognize  that,  by  way  of  association  or 
suggestion,  all  forms  can  be  thus  transfigured? — Essay  on 
the  Function  of  Technique. 

ELOCUTION,  AS  RELATED  TO  ALL  EXPRESSION. 

The  man  who  has  learned  how  to  arrange  tones  and  pauses 
in  reading  is  the  man  who  can  best  arrange  what  can  be 
easily  read  by  others.  Where  elocution  is  properly  taught, 
not  once  in  a  score  of  times,  will  you  find  a  prize  writer  in 
an  upper  class  who  has  not  started  by  being  a  prize  speaker 
in  a  lower  class.  When  Wendell  Phillips  made  a  special 
study  of  elocution  at  Harvard,  by  his  side  studied  Motley, 
the  historian.  But,  beyond  its  influence  upon  literary 
excellence,  the  kind  of  practice  necessitated  in  elocution, 
and  its  very  apparent  effects,  are  a  revelation  to  large 
numbers  of  students  of  the  true  method  through  which 
thought  and  feeling  can  make  subservient  to  themselves 
the  agencies  of  expression  in  any  department  whatever  that 
necessitates  the  acquirement  of  skill ;  indeed,  a  revelation  of 
how,  if  at  all,  the  mind  can  master  the  whole  body  or  any  of 
its  bodily  surroundings. — Idem. 

ELOCUTION,  AS  RELATED  TO  OTHER  ARTS. 

It  is  not  only  an  art,  but  also,  in  an  important  sense,  the 
art  of  arts,  the  centre  and  fountain  of  the  whole  aesthetic 
system.  When  the  fountain  plays,  there  is  melody  and 
rhythm  in  the  rush  of  its  spray  and  the  ripple  of  its  overflow ; 


112  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

there  is  color  and  line  in  the  sunlit  bow  crowning  its  brow 
and  in  the  ghost-like  shadow  shrinking  from  the  touch  of 
moonlight  or  the  frost.  But  there  would  be  nothing  to  hear 
or  to  see,  except  for  the  fountain  itself.  Nor  would  there 
be  anything  of  the  whole  art-system  except  for  elocution. 
Make  that  which  can  echo  a  man's  intonations,  symboHze 
his  articulations,  imitate  his  postures  and  the  hues  and 
outlines  that  surround  him,  and  you  have  the  possibilities 
of  music,  poetry,  painting,  sculpture,  and  architecture. 
Whatever  more  these  latter  arts  include,  they  gain  all  their 
uses  and  meanings  from  the  previous  use  which  an  imma- 
terial soul  has  made  of  its  material  body.  Art  is  human 
sentiment  made  incarnate  in  the  forms  of  nature;  and 
it  first  touches  nature  in  the  human  form,  as  in  elocution. — 
Idem. 

ELOCUTION,  ITS  INFLUENCE  ON  LITERARY  STYLE. 

"In  reading  without  utterance  aloud,"  says  Alexander 
Bain,  in  his  "  Rhetoric,"  "we  have  a  sense  of  the  articulate 
flow  of  the  voice  as  it  appeals  to  the  ear."  If  this  be  so, 
the  deduction  is  unavoidable  that  the  man  who,  himself, 
knows  how  to  read  with  ease  will  be  the  most  likely  to  know 
how  to  select  and  to  arrange  words  so  that  they  can  be  read 
with  ease  by  others.  He  will  be  the  most  likely  to  know 
just  where  to  introduce  the  accents  causing  natural  rhythm, 
the  pauses  enabling  one  to  breathe  without  effort,  and  the 
important  words  emphasizing  the  sense;  to  know  where  to 
hasten  the  movement  by  short  sentences  and  syllables  that 
one  can  pronounce  quickly,  and  where  to  retard  it  by  long 
sentences  and  syllables  that  have  to  be  uttered  slowly ;  to 
know  how  to  balance  the  sound-effects  of  epithets  and 
phrases,  when  ideas  are  to  be  contrasted,  or  to  parallel  them 
when  they  are  to  be  compared ;  to  know  how  to  let  the  sugges- 
tions of  proof,  if  decisive,  unwind  like  a  cracking  whiplash  at 
the  end  of  a  periodic  sentence  or  climax,  or,  if  indecisive,  un- 
ravel into  shreds  at  the  end  of  a  loose  sentence  or  an  anti- 
climax; to  know  how  to  charge  his  batteries  of  breath  with 
consonants  and  clauses  that  hiss,  whine,  roar,  or  rattle,  and 
give  thought  the  victory  over  form,  through  rhyme  that  is 
loaded  with  reason,  and  rhythm  that  repeats  the  thought- 
waves  pulsing  in  the  brain,  or  only  to  waste  his  energies  in 
cataloguing  names  for  things  that  never  waken  realization 
of  what  they  cannot  picture,  that  never  rouse  imagination 
save  as  they  first  lull  to  dreams,  and  that  never  stir  one 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  113 

vivid  feeling  except  of  gratitude  when  their  dull  details  are 
at  an  end. — Essay  on  the  Literary  Artist  and  Elocution. 

ELOCUTION,   PROFESSORSHIP  OF   {see  also  teacher). 

The  inexperienced  conception  of  a  professorship  like 
ours  is  more  likely  to  be  that  of  a  man  spending  all  his  time 
in  enlarging  the  range  of  Demosthenes  and  Shakespeare  by 
his  own  contributions,  blowing  their  dead  phrases  to  a  glow 
with  the  breath  of  his  own  inflections,  and  starring  their 
every  climax  with  the  rays  of  his  own  gestures;  above  all, 
exhibiting  his  familiarity  with  the  very  gods  themselves,  by 
pointing  the  end  of  every  criticism  with  a  rocket  bursting 
into  a  temporary  rivalry  of  Venus,  Jupiter,  and  Saturn  and 
the  whole  galaxy  of  the  empyrean. 

As  a  fact,  however,  no  boy  was  ever  more  cramped  and 
smothered,  while  playing  dumb  orator,  than  some  of  us 
have  been,  spending  so  much  of  our  lives,  as  we  have,  almost 
literally  kneeling  behind  those  who,  but  for  us,  would  have 
had  little  more  influence  in  the  world  than  the  dumb  and 
the  halt — and  with  what  result  ?  Not  infrequently  a  comic 
result ;  for  this  is  a  world  of  incongruities.  The  born  genius 
to  whom  we  have  been  conscious  of  offering  a  few  hardly- 
needed  suggestions,  may  thankfully  attribute  all  his  success 
to  our  efforts.  But  the  man  whom  we  have  literally  created 
from  the  diaphragm  up,  sending  into  certain  parts  of  his 
lungs  for  the  very  first  time  the  real  breath  of  life,  is  not 
seldom  inclined  to  resent  the  impious  insinuation  that  to 
any  influence  less  than  that  of  divinity  could  be  attributed 
what  he  has  become. — Essay  on  the  Function  of  Technique. 

ELOCUTION  TEACHERS,  ARTIFICIALITY  OF  {see  also  TEACHER). 

Occasionally,  one  meets  candidates  for  such  positions 
who  articulate  with  such  pedantic  precision  that  he  feels 
like  shaking  them  to  see  if  teeth  and  tongue,  which  appear 
to  have  cut  connection  with  head  and  heart,  cannot  actually 
drop  out.  There  are  others  who  emphasize  with  so  much 
artificiality  that  the  chief  impression  conveyed  comes  from 
the  dexterity  with  which  subordinate  words  and  clauses  are 
kept  dancing  up  and  down,  as  if  intent  to  assume  an  impor- 
tance that  will  keep  the  main  sense  in  the  background. — 
Essay  on  Elocution  in  the  Theological  Seminary. 

ELOCUTION,    WHEN   TOO   PICTURESQUE. 

A  word,  too,  might  be  added  with  reference  to  the  fault 
of  making  elocution  too  picturesque;  of  confounding  re- 


114  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

presentation  in  action  with  painting.  As  we  all  know,  in 
connection  with  expression  in  language,  only  a  moderate 
degree  of  action  is  natural.  To  overstep  the  boundary  of 
moderation  in  this  regard  is  to  transgress  those  limits  where 
the  dignity  of  appropriate  characterization  passes  into  the 
ludicrousness  of  incongruous  caricature, — a  result  that  we 
may  laugh  with  in  comedy,  but  can  only  laugh  at  in 
a  serious  performance.  —  The  Representative  Significance 
of  Form,  xxvi. 

elocutionary  vs.  musical  motive  {see  oratory  vs. 
conversation). 
In  correct  elocutionary  delivery,  every  sound  represents 
a  definite  thought.  In  music,  not  every  sound  but  every 
series  of  sounds  represents,  and,  even  then,  it  does  not 
represent  a  definite  thought  but  an  indefinite  emotive 
tendency  of  thought.  The  musical  motive  is  manifested 
in  elocution,  when  the  speaker  begins  to  be  influenced  by 
the  general  drift  of  the  words  rather  than  by  the  particular 
thought  behind  each  word.  He  is  more  apt  to  be  influ- 
enced thus  when  he  is  reading  from  a  manuscript  than  when 
he  is  speaking  without  one.  When  the  eye  is  attending  to 
phrases  instead  of  individual  words  the  mind  is  apt  to  be 
thinking  of  the  phrase.  As  a  consequence,  there  begin  to 
be  regularly  recurring  series  of  slow  or  rapid  upward  and 
downward  utterances,  irrespective  of  the  emphasis  appro- 
priate for  particular  words,  which,  when  a  man  is  thinking 
of  them,  he  always  gives.  This  makes  the  result  of  elocu- 
tion resemble  that  of  music.  Music  either  puts  our 
thinking  powers  to  sleep,  as  if  the  rhythm  had  a  sort  of 
hypnotic  influence,  or  else  it  sets  us  to  thinking  not  of 
anything  in  particular  but  of  many  things  in  general,  the 
drift  only  of  which  need  be  in  analogy  with  that  which 
is  being  heard.  And  this  is  just  what  is  done  by  a  sermon 
delivered  with  the  musical  motive,  no  matter  how  sweet 
the  voice  or  correct  the  enunciation.  It  either  puts  peo- 
ple to  sleep,  or  makes  them  think  of  something  having 
nothing  to  do  with  the  discourse.  Indeed,  however  they 
may  try  to  follow  the  line  of  its  thought  they  have  hard 
work  in  doing  so,  the  legitimate  effect  of  the  delivery 
being  to  incline  them  away  from  it.  One's  feet  might  al- 
most as  well  attempt,  without  slipping  off,  to  follow  a  line 
of  cracks  along  the  side  of  a  steep  roof  covered  with  ice. 
— Idem,  xxvi. 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  115 

EMOTION,   AS   INFLUENCING  ART-EXPRESSION. 

The  works  of  the  lesser  or  occasional  artists  are  produced 
amid  excitement  which  at  intervals  avails  in  all  to  paralyze 
the  logical  powers  and  to  stimulate  the  analogical.  But 
when,  as  in  the  greater  artists,  such  phases  of  emotion  are 
the  rule  and  not  the  exception;  when  they  are  constant, 
when  the  man  by  nature  is  subjected  to  them  and  habitually 
views  things  in  an  artistic  light,  and  that,  too,  although  not 
greatly  influenced  by  external  causes,  then  the  experience 
must  be  attributed  mainly  to  temperament. — Idem,  xiii. 

Thought  in  its  very  essence  is  comparison.  The  artistic 
state  in  which  the  tendency  to  use  comparisons  is  in  the 
intensest  exercise,  may  be  the  state  in  which  there  is  the 
in  tensest  exercise  of  thought.  What  though  this  thought 
may  be  impelled  by  an  excited  rather  than  by  a  quiescent 
condition  of  emotion?  Does  this  change  its  essential 
character?  As  a  fact,  do  artists  show  less  thought  in  what 
they  furnish  us  than  do  scientists?  Are  not  the  spirits  of 
the  great  artists,  as  of  the  prophets,  notwithstanding  all 
their  quickness  and  intuitiveness  of  perception  and  expres- 
sion, subject  to  their  rational  minds?  Dante  and  Raphael, 
— were  their  works  inspired  by  an  absence  of  intellection? 
Leonardo  and  Goethe, — were  they  not  wellnigh  as  accurate 
in  their  regard  for  the  laws  of  science  as  of  art? — Idem,  xiii. 

The  emotion  possessed  by  the  artist,  it  was  said,  moves 
his  thought  with  so  much  speed  that  he  is  unconscious  of 
the  different  phases  through  which  it  passes  before  reaching 
its  conclusions.  With  little  emotion,  with  all  the  thoughts 
advancing  at  slow  pace,  the  scientist  is  conscious  of  almost 
every  step.  But  when  circumstances  so  affect  one  that, 
owing  to  some  limit  in  his  means  or  time  for  consideration, 
he  must  arrive  at  his  conclusions  in  haste — circumstances 
realized  in  the  cases  of  all  the  members  of  a  savage  and 
uncultivated  race,  and  of  children  and  of  older  persons  in 
the  presence  of  exciting  causes — then  apprehension  over- 
balances comprehension,  and  the  mind  expresses  what  it 
would  according  to  the  dictates  of  intuitive  judgment 
rather  than  of  logical  reasoning.  These  are  the  conditions, 
as  we  have  found,  which  give  birth  to  art. — Idem,  xiii. 

EMOTIONS,   AS  THE  SOURCE  OF  ART. 

It  is  because  of  emotions  succeeding  one  another  too 
rapidly  to  permit  one's  perceptions  or  expressions  to  flow 


ii6  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

wholly  in  the  channels  of  conscious  thought  that  the  artist's 
mind  works  imaginatively  with  reference  to  the  forms  of 
nature,  and  causes  the  minds  of  others  to  work  similarly 
with  reference  to  the  forms  of  art  which  are  made  similar 
to  those  of  nature.  In  other  words,  the  imaginative  ideality 
embodied  in  art  is  due  to  thought  as  prompted  by  emotion. 
But  this  is  exactly  what  Lord  Kames  in  his  "Elements  of 
Criticism"  says  that  sentiment  is. — Idem,  xv. 

EMOTION,  OR  SOUL,  AS  RELATED  TO  INSTINCT  AND  REFLECTION 

(see  REPRESENTATIVE  EFFECTS  IN  EXTENSION). 

Instinctive  processes  on  the  part  of  men  are  those  which 
are  conducted  according  to  unconscious  methods,  and  are 
analogous,  for  this  reason,  to  the  results  of  the  promptings  of 
instinct  in  the  lower  animals.  Applying  this  test  to  music 
and  poetry,  we  can  perceive  in  what  sense  they  may  be 
attributed  to  the  instinctive  tendency.  The  best  melodies 
and  verses  sing  themselves  into  existence.  The  musician 
or  poet  hardly  knows  how  or  whence  they  come.  In  pro- 
ducing paintings,  statues,  and  buildings,  however,  the  mind 
is  more  successful  when  it  works  reflectively,  by  which  is 
meant  according  to  the  conscious  and  calculating  methods  of 
reason.  A  statue  and  a  building  are  produced  slowly  and 
with  a  clear  conception  of  design.  At  the  same  time  it  is 
important  to  remember  that  neither  the  instinctive  nor  the 
reflective  tendency  alone  is  sufficient  to  bring  all  that  there 
is  in  a  man  to  bear  upon  his  product.  .  .  .  it  is  when  the 
results  of  reflection  are  added  to  those  of  instinct,  or  of 
instinct  to  those  of  reflection;  when,  therefore,  neither  one 
of  these  elements  alone  is  present,  but  both  together, — it  is 
then  that  we  have  in  the  product  an  illustration  of  what,  in 
distinction  from  either  instinctive  or  reflective,  we  may  term 
an  emotive  influence.  A  man,  for  instance,  may  eat  and 
sleep  like  an  animal,  instinctively,  or  he  may  think  and  talk 
reflectively,  without  giving  any  expression  to  what  we  mean 
by  emotion.  But  as  soon  as  he  thinks  and  talks  in  con- 
nection with  eating  and  sleeping,  as  is  the  case  with  a  caterer 
or  upholsterer,  an  hotel  keeper  or  a  house- wife;  or  as  soon 
as  his  instincts  prompt  and  accentuate  his  thinking  and  talk- 
ing, as  is  the  case  with  an  actor  or  a  good  story-teller,  then, 
as  a  result  of  instinct  made  thoughtful,  or  of  thought  made 
instinctive,  he  begins  to  manifest  his  emotive  nature;  and 
the  character  of  his  emotion  is  represented  by  the  degree  in 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  117 

which  the  one  or  the  other  of  the  two  tendencies — instinct 
or  thought — is  in  excess.  It  may  be  interesting  to  point 
out  also  that,  according  to  ordinar}^  conceptions,  the  power 
which  blends  or  balances  the  instinctive  or  physical  and  the 
reflective  or  mental,  is  the  soul,  holding  body  and  mind 
together,  influencing  and  influenced  by  both;  and  also 
that,  according  to  ordinary  conceptions,  it  is  the  same  thing 
to  put  emotion  into  expressions  and  to  put  soul  into  them. 
Neither  can  be  manifested  in  them  unless  they  represent  a 
blended  result  both  of  nerve  and  of  thought,  of  instinct  and 
of  reflection.  In  accordance  with  this,  it  is  evident  that 
music  and  poetry,  which  are  naturally  instinctive,  come  to 
manifest  soul  in  the  degree  in  which  they  embody  also,  kept 
of  course  in  due  subordination,  something  of  the  reflective; 
and  that  the  naturally  reflective  products  of  the  other  arts 
acquire  the  same  effect  in  the  degree  in  which,  in  the  same 
way,  they  embody  something  of  the  instinctive. — Art  in 
Theory  J  xx. 

EPIC,   REALISTIC,   AND  DRAMATIC  MOTIVES. 

Suppose  that  one  be  moved  to  tell  a  story.  That  which 
first  prompts  him  to  do  so  is  some  thought,  usually  a  general 
impression,  which  strikes  him  in  connection  with  certain 
transactions  that  he  has  witnessed  or  heard;  and  because 
the  impression  remains,  he  tells  the  story  in  such  a  way  as 
to  convey  to  his  hearers  an  impression  similar  to  his  own. 
His  whole  object  in  the  recital,  though  he  may  not  be  con- 
scious of  it,  is  to  make  clear  the  impression,  or,  as  we  some- 
times say,  the  morale  the  point  that  has  interested  him,  and 
so  long  as  he  does  this  he  cares  little  about  accuracy  in  all 
the  details.  Now  this  is  the  condition  requisite  to  the  epic 
form  of  art,  and,  as  all  of  us  will  probably  recognize,  this  is 
the  condition  of  the  method  most  naturally  adopted  by  those 
who  gain  the  reputation  of  being  good  story-tellers.  There- 
fore it  seems  appropriate  that  the  Greeks,  taking  their  term 
from  a  word  meaning  story,  should  have  named  this  form, 
par  excellence,  the  epic,  or  story-style. 

But  there  is  another  way  in  which  one  may  recall  the 
same  transactions.  After  reflecting  upon  them  a  little,  he 
may  begin  to  analyze  the  different  deeds  or  words  of  the 
person  implicated,  and  to  ask  himself,  Why  did  this  one 
do  this  or  say  that  ?  These  reflections  will  lead  him  to  think 
more  particularly  of  the  details  of  the  transactions  and 


Ii8  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

sayings,  and  of  each  of  them  in  the  order  of  its  occurrence. 
When,  after  such  a  consideration,  he  comes  to  tell  the  story, 
although  possibly  he  may  not  neglect  to  bring  out  that  which 
at  first  seemed  to  him  to  be  its  "point,"  nevertheless  this 
will  appear  subordinate  to  the  accuracy  with  which  he  re- 
lates the  details  themselves  and  their  interaction.  In  other 
words,  his  desire  to  be  true  to  the  facts  in  their  order  of 
sequence — i.  e.,  to  the  scientific-artistic  tendency — will 
realize  the  condition  requisite  to  what  has  been  termed 
realistic  art;  and,  with  reference  to  this,  it  is  evident  that 
while  such  a  mode  of  recital  may  render  a  story  far  less 
interesting  as  a  mere  story,  it  will  render  it  far  more  satis- 
factory to  a  consideration  purely  intellectual  and  analytic. 

Once  more,  there  is  a  third  way  of  telling  the  story. 
After  analyzing  the  different  words  and  deeds  of  the  per- 
sons engaged  in  the  transactions,  a  man  may  become  con- 
scious of  forming  definite  conclusions  with  reference  to  the 
motives  and  characters  of  these  persons,  and,  as  a  result  of 
his  conclusions,  he  may  be  joyous  or  otherwise,  according 
to  the  degree  in  which  the  events  have  pleased  or  grieved 
him.  At  this  stage,  he  will  be  prompted  to  express  his 
pleasure  or  grief;  i.  e.,  his  emotions,  and,  while  doing  so, 
in  order  to  manifest  his  reasons  and  enforce  their  reasonable- 
ness on  others,  he  will  be  led  instinctively  to  imitate  the 
expressions  or  appearances  of  the  characters  to  whom  he  is 
referring.  This  gives  us  the  condition  requisite  to  dramatic 
art — from  the  word  dramare,  to  act.  In  this  form,  the 
story  is  told,  not  with  supreme  reference  to  the  point  or 
moral,  as  in  the  epic,  or  to  the  details  or  facts,  as  in  the  realistic, 
but  to  the  effects  produced  upon  thought  or  feeling,  and  to 
the  way  in  which  they  can  be  represented  in  action. — Essen- 
tials of  Msthetics,  xi. 

EPIC,  REALISTIC  AND  DRAMATIC  OUTLINES  (see  REPRESENTA- 
TIVE EFFECTS  IN  NATURAL  OUTLINES). 

Now  add  to  this  observation  with  reference  to  the  expres- 
sion of  outlines  in  material  nature,  another  with  reference 
to  the  expression  of  thoughts  or  emotions  in  the  human 
form.  Whenever  these  find  vent  under  the  predominating 
influence  of  a  subjective  or  instinctive  prompting,  corre- 
sponding to  the  epic;  in  other  words,  whenever,  wholly 
from  within,  a  man  is  inspired  to  rapture,  enthusiasm,  and 
eloquence,  either  of  a  joyous  or  serious  character,  then  his 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  119 

gait,  postures,  gestures,  and  all  the  movements  of  his  body, 
in  the  degree  in  which  his  sentiment  is  able  to  find  unim- 
peded expression  in  his  physical  frame,  will  take  the  form  of 
free,  large,  graceful  curves.  But  whenever  his  thoughts  or 
emotions  find  vent  under  a  predominating  influence  of  a 
relative  or  reflective  prompting  corresponding  to  the 
realistic — in  other  words,  whenever  he  is  actuated  by  a 
desire,  conscientious,  self-conscious,  and  therefore  more  or 
less  constrained,  to  accommodate  expression  exactly  to  that 
which  it  is  to  express,  then  his  form  will  be  erect,  and  his 
gestures  straight  and  stiff,  and,  so  far  as  is  necessary  in  order 
to  make  them  straight,  angular.  And  once  more,  whenever 
he  is  under  a  predominating  influence  of  objective  or  emotive 
promptings,  corresponding  to  the  dramatic — in  other  words, 
whenever  his  chief  impulse  is  to  emphasize  in  the  forms  of 
expression  that  which  in  view  of  outward  circumstances 
or  consequences  has  stirred  him  profoundly,  then  the  excite- 
ment or  passion  either  joyous  or  grievous,  in  the  degree  in 
which  it  is  effectively  manifested,  will  double  up  his  form, 
throw  out  his  chin,  bend  violently  his  elbows,  knees,  and 
wrists,  and  make  all  his  body  a  human  representation  of 
the  same  sort  of  varied  irregularity  already  described  in 
the  forms  of  nature  which  have  been  said  to  represent  the 
same  tendency. 

There  are  reasons,  therefore,  founded  both  upon  the 
principle  of  association  and  upon  methods  of  expression 
pertaining  to  the  very  nature  of  our  body,  why  the  three 
tendencies  of  form  should  find  expression  as  has  here  been 
indicated.  — The  Representative  Significance  of  Form,  xxi. 

EXPLANATIONS    OF    ART-WORK    {scC   dlso    INFORMATION    and 

literary). 
To  a  work  of  art  an  explanation  is  much  what  canes  are 
to  walking.  Well  used,  they  may  increase  the  gracefulness 
of  impression  conveyed  by  a  man's  gait.  But  this  cannot 
be  graceful  at  all,  unless  he  is  able  to  walk  without  them. 
So  a  picture  cannot  be  all  that  a  work  of  art  should  be, 
unless,  without  one's  knowing  what  the  explanation  is  de- 
signed to  impart,  the  drawing  and  coloring  can,  in  some 
degree,  at  least,  attract  and  satisfy  assthetic  interest. 
Neither  can  a  musical  composition,  unless  it  too,  without 
the  aid  of  explanations,  through  the  mere  unfolding  of 
musical  motives  in  a  distinctively  musical  way,  can  afford, 


120  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

at  least,  some  degree  of  assthetic  delight.  So  far  as  an 
explanation  is  intended  to  be  used  as  a  crutch  instead  of  a 
cane,  the  opponents  of  program  music  are  justified.  But 
on  the  other  hand,  so  long  as  a  composer  refrains  from  con- 
ditioning upon  his  printed  description  such  effects  as  are  not 
legitimate  to  it,  there  seems  to  be  no  good  reason  why  he 
should  not  share  his  confidences  with  his  audiences,  and  let 
them  know  what  visible  phenomena  seemed  represented  by 
his  product  when  he  was  preparing  it.  In  pursuing  this 
course,  why  is  he  not  acting  as  strictly  in  accordance  with 
the  principles  of  his  art,  as  is  the  composer  of  an  opera  when 
he  indicates  to  his  stage  managers  how  to  represent  the 
movements  of  his  music  through  visible  changes  in  scenery 
and  action? — Rhythm  and  Harmony  in  Poetry  and  Music: 
Music  as  a  Representative  Art,  vii. 

EXPRESSION,   ARTISTIC  VS,   ORDINARY    {see  ART   FOR   ART's 

sake). 
A  man  hums  and  talks,  fulfilling  an  instinctive  prompting 
of  his  nature,  in  order  to  give  vent  to  certain  inward  moods. 
It  is  when  something  about  the  form  in  which  he  hums — 
the  movement,  the  tune — attracts  his  attention,  and  he 
begins  to  experiment  or  play  with  it  for  its  own  sake,  that 
he  begins  to  develop  the  possibilities  of  the  musician.  In 
the  same  way,  it  is  when  something  about  the  forms  in  which 
a  man  talks — the  metaphors,  similes,  sounds  of  the  words — 
attracts  his  attention  and  he  begins  to  experiment  with  them 
that  he  begins  to  develop  the  possibilities  of  the  poet.  So 
with  drawing,  carving,  and  building.  A  man  does  more  or 
less  of  all  of  these,  owing  to  an  instinctive  prompting  within 
him;  but  when  something  about  the  outlines,  colors,  and 
materials  that  represent  the  conditions  or  relationships  of 
nature  attracts  his  attention,  so  that  he  begins  to  experi- 
ment with  them — it  is  then  that  he  begins  to  develop  the 
possibilities  of  the  painter,  the  sculptor,  or  the  architect. — 
The  Genesis  of  Art-Form,  i. 

EXPRESSION  DEVELOPED  FROM  POSTURES  AND  GESTURES  {sce 
REPRESENTATION  A  CHARACTERISTIC  OF  ART). 

How  does  a  man  express  to  sight  what  is  passing  in  his 
mind?  Undoubtedly  by  his  postures  and  the  gestures  of 
his  hands,  feet,  head,  and  countenance,  and  by  these  as  we 
see  him  when  standing  alone  not  only,  but  when  surrounded 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  121 

by  other  persons  and  things.  Postures  and  gestures, 
though  never  as  definitely  intelligible  as  the  sounds  of  the 
voice,  are,  nevertheless,  in  as  true  a  sense  natural  forms  of 
communicating  thought  and  feeling;  and  may  be  developed 
into  the  subordinate  art  of  pantomime,  just  as  natural  forms 
of  utterance  in  sound  may  be  developed  into  the  art  of 
speech.  But  pantomime  is  no  more  painting  or  sculpture 
than  speech  is  poetry.  It  is  when  a  man  becomes  so  at- 
tracted and  charmed  by  the  methods  through  which  he 
naturally  expresses  thought  in  pantomime  that  he  begins 
to  make  an  external  product,  embodying  thought  through 
like  methods, — it  is  then  that  he  begins  to  work  in  the  sphere 
of  the  higher  arts.  Moreover,  when  he  does  this,  he  does 
not  pose  with  his  own  figure,  as  in  dramatic  representation, 
but  he  makes  other  figures  pose — that  is  to  say,  he  draws, 
colors,  shapes,  and  combines  the  different  parts  of  the  figures 
of  other  men,  either  alone,  or  in  connection  with  their  fellows 
or  with  objects  of  nature  animate  or  inanimate.  Besides 
this,  too,  very  often  without  making  use  of  any  human 
figures,  he  draws,  colors,  shapes,  or  combines  other  animate 
or  inanimate  objects.  It  is  for  these  reasons  and  in  these 
circumstances  that  he  produces  a  work  of  painting  or  of 
sculpture.  In  other  words,  instead  of  conveying  a  thought 
or  feeling  through  a  posture  of  his  own  body,  he  conveys 
it  through  representing  a  posture  in  a  pictured  man's  body. 
Or  if  his  idea  involve  nothing  that  needs  to  be  represented 
by  human  figures ;  if  it  be  something  that  could  be  conveyed 
by  his  pointing  to  animate  or  inanimate  objects,  were  they 
present  in  a  certain  location,  then  he  leaves  the  human  figure 
out  of  his  pictiure,  and  reproduces  merely  these  objects. 
.  .  .  Paintings  and  statues  are  thus  external  products  that 
are  embodiments  of  distinctively  human  methods  of  ex- 
pression. But,  besides  this,  notice  how  true  it  is  that  they 
are  not  directed  primarily  toward  ends  of  material  utility. 
The  infinite  pains  taken  with  the  lines,  shadings,  hues,  and 
modelings,  that  alone  make  them  works  of  art,  cannot  be 
explained  on  any  other  supposition  than  that  they  are 
owing  to  the  satisfaction  which  a  man  takes  in  developing 
the  forms  for  the  sake  of  their  own  intrinsic  beauty,  wholly 
aside  from  any  desire  to  make  them  convey  clear  intelligence 
of  that  which  they  express.  This  could  usually  be  conveyed 
equally  well  by  the  rude  outlines  of  hieroglyphics. — Art  in 
Theory,  viii. 


122  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

EXPRESSION    FOR    EXPRESSION'S    SAKE     {sce    olso    ART   FOR 

art's  sake,  and  personality  as  represented). 

All  expression,  in  order  to  be  what  it  is,  in  order  to  con- 
\e,Y  audible  and  visible  information  of  inaudible  and  invisi- 
ble thought  and  feeling,  necessitates  a  use  of  the  sights  and 
sounds  furnished  by  nature.  Only  art  emphasizes  this  use 
of  them.  Notice  that,  in  doing  so,  art  does  not  emphasize 
the  thought  and  feeling  in  themselves.  .  .  .  What  art 
emphasizes  is  the  use  that  by  way  of  development  is  made 
of  the  factors  of  expression.  What  music  emphasizes,  for 
instance,  grows  out  of  the  possibilities  of  rhythm,  melody, 
and  harmony  in  sound;  what  poetry  emphasizes,  grows  out 
of  the  possibilities  of  rhythm,  figurative  language,  descrip- 
tion, and  characterization;  what  painting  and  sculpture 
emphasize,  grows  out  of  the  possibilities  of  outline,  color, 
pose,  and  situation ;  what  architecture  emphasizes,  grows  out 
of  the  possibilities  of  support,  shelter,  strength,  and  eleva- 
tion. .  .  .  But  what  interest  has  the  artist  in  manifesting, 
or  the  world  in  knowing,  that  certain  forms  of  nature  are 
factors  used  for  the  purpose  of  expression  by  a  mind  behind 
them?  What  interest  has  a  man  in  manifesting,  or  the 
world  in  knowing,  that  behind  any  appearances  of  nature 
there  is  a  mind?  He  who  can  answer  this,  will  find  a  reason 
for  the  interest  that  men  take  in  art,  either  as  producers  or  as 
patrons.  ... 

But  are  there  any  problems  of  life  of  interest  so  profound 
as  those  which  have  to  do  with  the  relations  of  mind  to 
matter  ?  Is  it  not  enough  to  say  that  mortals  conscious  of  a 
spirit  in  them  struggling  for  expression,  feel  that  they  are 
doing  what  becomes  them  when  they  give  this  spirit  vent, 
and  with  care  for  every  detail,  elaborate  the  forms  in  which 
they  give  it  this?  What  are  men  doing  when  thus  moved 
but  objectifying  their  inward  processes  of  mind;  but 
organizing  with  something  of  their  own  intelligence,  but 
animating  with  something  of  their  own  soul,  the  scattered 
and  lifeless  forms  that  are  about  them,  and  infusing  into 
their  product  something  of  the  same  spirit  that  is  the  source 
of  all  that  they  most  highly  prize  within  their  own  material 
bodies. — Idem,  v. 

Art,  while  traceable  to  that  which,  in  one  sphere,  is  a 
play-motive,  and  while  produced  with  an  aim  irrespective 
of  any  consideration  of  material  utility,  nevertheless  often 
springs  from  mental  and  spiritual  activity  of  the  most  dis- 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  123 

tinctive  kind,  and  results  in  the  greatest  possible  benefit  to 
the  race.  What  though  a  product  does  exist  for  expression's 
sake  alone?  A  being  with  a  mind  and  spirit  perpetually 
evolving  thought  and  feeling  possesses  that  which,  for  its 
own  sake,  ought  to  be  expressed.  Beyond  his  material 
surroundings  and  interests,  there  exists  for  him  a  realm  in 
which  excess  of  mental  and  spiritual  force  may  be  directed 
toward  the  production  of  veritable  works  of  art;  and  the 
effects  of  these  upon  mental  and  spiritual  development  may 
be  infinitely  more  important  than  all  possible  energy  that 
could  expend  itself  in  seeking  "what  shall  we  eat,  or  what 
shall  we  drink,  or  wherewithal  shall  we  be  clothed. " — Idem, 

VII. 

If  in  the  world  that  we  call  real,  our  spirits  be  in  prison, 
then  in  the  world  ideal  of  art  in  which  the  spirit  freely  con- 
jures forms  at  will,  there  may  be  an  actual  and  not  a  fancied 
exercise  of  that  which  men  in  general,  not  knowing  why, 
but  following,  as  so  often,  an  unerring  instinct,  have  agreed 
to  call  "the  faculty  divine."  At  least,  with  all  the  possi- 
bilities suggested,  if  not  indicated,  by  the  facts  that  are  be- 
yond dispute,  we  certainly  have  no  necessity  for  asking  why 
the  aim  of  art  should  be  to  represent,  though  only  for  the 
sake  of  representing,  these  reciprocal  effects  of  nature  upon 
the  mind  and  of  the  mind  upon  nature,  with  which  we  have 
found  it  to  be  occupied. — /Jew,  v. 

EXPRESSION,    ITS   MEANING. 

No  one  thinks  of  objecting  to  applying  to  the  higher  arts, 
as  is  so  frequently  done,  the  phrase  "arts  of  expression," 
which  term  expression,  as  will  be  recognized,  indicates  always 
the  general  result  when  a  man's  invisible  or  inaudible 
thoughts  or  emotions  are  represented  visibly  or  audibly  in 
deeds  or  tones.  As  thus  understood,  expression  involves 
effects  produced  both  by  the  mind,  which  is  the  source  of 
the  conception  embodied,  and  by  the  body — the  voice, 
hands,  whatever  they  may  be,  that  constitute  the  agencies 
through  which  the  conception  is  made  to  pass  into  form. — 
The  Representative  Significance  of  Form,  xiii. 

EXPRESSION,    ITS   PRINCIPLES. 

The  principles  of  expression  which  we  teach, — what  are 
they  but  those  which  best  interpret  that  which  is  most 
important  in  humanity,  and  not  in  it  alone,  but  in  all  the 
audible  and  visible  forms  of  the  universe,  from  which  it  is 


124  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

possible  for  humanity  to  derive  wisdom  and  guidance? — 
Essay  on  the  Function  of  Technique. 

EXPRESSION,   ITS  TRUTHFULNESS  DEPENDENT  ON  ITS  FORM. 

It  is  common  with  the  English  to  fancy  that  if  one  have 
only  something  to  express,  he  need  not  trouble  himself 
about  the  form  of  expression.  So,  when  they  wish  to 
express  heartiness  of  welcome,  they  imitate  the  actions  of 
men  shaking  hands  with  ladies  holding  up  heavy  trains 
on  their  arms, — actions  necessarily  suggestive  of  a  pretence 
of  having  artificial  habits  acquired  at  court,  and,  by  con- 
sequence, just  as  necessarily  incapable,  in  the  remotest 
degree,  of  suggesting  anything  even  of  the  nature  of  hearti- 
ness.— Idem. 

EXPRESSION,    TEACHERS   OF. 

The  majority  of  the  great  teachers,  whose  names  have 
come  down  to  us  from  antiquity,  like  Aristotle,  Ga- 
maliel, Quintilian,  were  teachers  of  expression,  some  of 
them,  like  the  last-named,  distinctively  teachers  of  elocu- 
tion.— Idem. 

FADS    IN   ART. 

Let  any  one  glance  at  the  illustrations  in  the  new'  English 
magazine,  **  The  Yellow  Book  " ;  and  then  in  humiliation  read 
over  the  names  of  hitherto  reputable  authors  who  have  been 
beguiled  into  allowing  their  writings  to  be  printed  between 
the  covers  of  a  periodical  started  for  the  purpose  of  making 
such  illustrations  popular.  We  are  told  that  these  are 
specimens  of  a  new  style  of  art.  In  reality,  they  are  speci- 
mens of  a  style  of  no  art  whatever,  if  by  the  term  we  mean 
that  which  is  art  in  the  highest  sense;  and  this  for  the  very 
evident  reason,  which  those  who  have  followed  the  lines 
of  thought  in  this  so-called  unpractical  series  of  essays, 
will  at  once  recognize,  namely,  that  it  is  not  their  aim  to 
represent  either  mental  conceptions  or  natural  appearances. 
The  fad  which  they  exemplify  furnishes  merely  one  more 
of  many  inane  manifestations  of  Anglo-Saxon  affectation, 
the  same  trait,  exhibiting  the  same  inability  to  perceive 
the  essentially  ethic  as  well  as  aesthetic  connection  between 
a  thing  to  be  expressed  and  a  representative  method  of 
expressing  it  which,  for  years,  has  made  two  whole  nations 
speak  inarticulately  and  spell  irregularly,  and,  to-day,  is 
making  so  many  wear  monocles,  carry  canes  dirt-end  up- 

*This  was  first  printed  in  1895. 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  125 

ward,  and  shake  hands  as  if,  forsooth,  they  could  not  get 
over  habits  acquired  in  clasping  the  fingers  of  court  ladies 
holding  on  their  arms  heavy  trains  at  the  queen's  recep- 
tions. There  is  no  more  art  in  what  the  draftsmen  of  this 
"Yellow  Book"  suppose  to  indicate  it  than  there  is  heart 
in  what  so  many  of  their  patrons  now  suppose  to  indicate 
a  hearty  welcome. — Paintings  Sculpture,  and  Architecture 
as  Representative  Arts,  xii. 

FAMILIAR,  ART  AS  RELATED  TO  THE. 

The  mere  fact  that  the  discoveries  of  science  are  treated 
like  familiar  subjects  is  not  an  argument  against  the  artistic 
quality  of  the  work  containing  them.  Nevertheless,  as  this 
quality  can  be  recognized  by  those  alone  to  whom  such 
subjects  are  really  familiar,  the  fact  may  be  an  argument, 
and  a  strong  one,  against  the  expediency  of  introducing 
them  at  the  expense  of  necessarily  limiting  the  number  of 
those  to  whom  the  work  will  prove  artistically  interesting. — 
The  Representative  Significance  of  Form,  viii. 

FASHION    PREVAILING,    DISREGARDED    IN   ART. 

Nor  is  the  taste  of  any  age,  however  it  may  stimulate 
ability  or  aspiration  to  produce,  above  the  sway  of  fashions, 
good  and  bad,  that,  in  proportion  as  they  keep  truth  fettered, 
render  excellence  impossible.  In  order  to  attain  this,  the 
leader  in  art,  as  in  religion,  must  break  away  from  them, 
in  fact  from  all  the  shackles  of  conventional  traditionalism-— 
one  might  almost  say  of  historic  criticism,  broadly  beneficial 
as  this  has  been  in  many  a  direction, — and,  searching  back 
of  them,  must  find  within  himself  and  in  the  world  about 
him  those  first  principles  that  underlie  the  nature  of  both 
thoughts  and  things. — The  Genesis  of  Art  Form,  Preface. 

FIGURATIVE  LANGUAGE,  WHEN  APPROPRIATE  (see  ILLUSTRA- 
TIONS,   LANGUAGE    PLAIN    AND    FIGURATIVE,   POETRY — ITS 
LANGUAGE  VS.  PROSE,  and  REPRESENTATION  IN  SENTENCES). 

He  (the  poet)  will  be  impelled  to  use  figures  whenever,  for 
any  reason,  he  feels  that  plain  language  will  not  serve  his 
purpose.  Two  circumstances,  inclusive,  in  a  broad  way, 
of  many  others,  will  justify  him,  as  we  can  see,  in  having 
this  feeling:  first,  one  in  which  the  impression  to  be  con- 
veyed is  very  great  or  complex  in  its  nature.  Very  often,  in 
these  circumstances,  plain  direct  representation  might  not 
only  fail  to  do  justice  to  the  subject,  but  might  positively 
misrepresent  it.     Milton  wished  to  convey  an  impression 


126  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

of  the  size  and  power  of  Satan.  It  would  scarcely  have 
been  possible  for  him  to  do  this  adequately  without  mak- 
ing his  representation  i//w5/ra/^Vg.  .  .  .  The  second  circum- 
stance that  justifies  a  writer  in  feeling  that  he  must  not 
use  direct  representation  is  this: — not  the  fact  that  the 
impression  to  be  conveyed  is  too  great  or  complex  to  be 
represented  truthfully  in  this  manner,  but  just  the  opposite: 
— the  fact  that  it  is  too  small  and  simple  to  be  represented 
adequately  in  this  manner.  When  the  scene  to  be  described 
is  one  that  in  itself  is  fitted  to  awaken  the  deepest  and  grand- 
est feelings  and  thoughts,  then,  as  in  the  concluding  para- 
graph of  '* Paradise  Lost,"  given  a  few  pages  back,  direct 
representation  is  all  that  is  needed.  Wherever,  in  fact,  the 
ideas  to  be  presented  are  sublime  or  pathetic  in  themselves, 
the  one  thing  necessary  is  that  the  reader  should  realize  them 
as  they  are;  and  any  indirectness  in  the  style  rather  hinders 
than  furthers  this.  .  .  .  Indeed,  the  main  reason  for  the 
large  preponderance  of  direct  over  illustrative  representa- 
tion in  the  works  of  Homer  and  of  the  Greek  tragedians,  is 
undoubtedly  this, — that  most  of  the  persons  and  actions  of 
which  they  treated  were  heroic  in  their  nature.  They 
needed  only  to  be  represented  as  they  were,  in  order  to 
awaken  admiration.  It  is  the  boast  of  our  modern  times, 
however,  that  we  have  learned  to  take  an  interest  in  com- 
mon men  and  actions.  The  poet  feels  that  he  misses  that 
which  perhaps  is  noblest  in  his  mission  if  he  fails  to  help 
the  humblest  of  his  fellows,  physically,  mentally,  socially, 
morally,  and  spiritually,  by  doing  his  best  to  lead  them  into 
better  conditions. — Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art,  xxiii. 

FORM  AND  SIGNIFICANCE  IN  ART  {see  olso  ART  AS  MENTAL, 
ART  EXPRESSING  THOUGHT,  SIGNIFICANCE  and  TECHNIQUE). 

The  term  Jorm,  derived  from  the  Latin  word  forma  ^ 
meaning  an  appearance,  refers,  primarily,  to  anything 
that  can  be  perceived  by  the  senses,  and,  in  the  higher 
arts,  for  reasons  given  on  page  8,  by  one  of  two  senses, 
— that  of  hearing  or  of  seeing.  But,  besides  this,  the 
term  has  a  secondary  and  metaphorical  meaning;  it  refers 
to  any  conception  the  whole  and  the  parts  of  which  appeal 
to  the  imagination — i,  e.,  the  imagining  power  of  the 
mind — in  a  clearly  articulated,  distinctly  outlined,  or 
graphic  way,  so  that  one  may  liken  the  conception  to  a 
thing  that  the  senses  can  perceive.     This  is  the  use  of 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  127 

the  word  which  justifies  one  in  speaking  of  the  form  of  an 
oration  or  a  drama,  or  of  a  storm-scene  or  a  battle-scene, 
which  latter  he  may  have  only  in  mind  without  any  inten- 
tion of  ever  actually  putting  it  into  the  form  of  a  picture. 

The  term  significance  refers  to  that  which  is  supposed 
to  be  indicated  to  the  mind  through  the  form.  Sometimes 
the  form  indicates  this  on  account  of  what  it  is  in  itself, 
as  when  the  picture  of  a  man  looking  intently  at  an  object 
makes  us  think  that  he  is  studying  it.  But  sometimes 
the  form  in  itself  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  significance, 
which  it  only  suggests  by  way  of  association.  For  instance, 
in  certain  circumstances,  by  hanging  out  a  national  flag, 
or  by  wearing  the  national  colors,  we  may  manifest  our 
patriotism.  The  flags  and  colors  are  the  forms  through 
which,  because  men  can  see  them,  we  indicate  the  patriotism 
which  men  cannot  see.  The  flags  and  colours  are  the  signals, 
the  patriotism  is  the  thing  signified,  or  the  significance. 
This  illustration  will  indicate  what  is  meant  in  art  by  form 
and  by  the  significance  expressed  through  the  form.  Very 
many  forms  which  an  artist  can  use  inevitably  suggest — on 
account  of  what  they  are  in  themselves,  or  of  their  associa- 
tions— one  conception  and  no  other.  Therefore,  in  reproduc- 
ing them,  the  artist  must  treat  them  not  as  mere  forms, 
but  as  forms  which,  by  way  of  nature  or  of  ordinary  use, 
have  a  definite  meaning.  If,  for  instance,  we  ask  a  sculptor 
who  has  tried  to  represent  a  certain  character,  why  a  hand 
has  been  moulded  so  as  to  produce  a  gesture  with  the  palm 
up  instead  of  down,  he  cannot  give  a  satisfactory  answer 
by  saying  that  he  has  moulded  it  thus  for  the  sake  merely  of 
the  form,  in  case  he  mean  to  use  this  word  as  indicating  an 
appearance.  On£  gesture,  if  well  made,  may  appear  as  well  as 
another.  The  mfference  between  the  two  is  wholly  a  differ- 
ence of  meaning,  of  significance. — Essentials  of  ^sthteics,  v. 

This  fact  is  exemplified  in  all  the  arts ;  and  it  is  that  which 
makes  an  art-product,  as  distinguished  from  a  scientific, 
a  combined  effect  of  both  form  and  significance — of  form, 
inasmuch  as  it  fulfils  certain  physical  laws  of  harmony 
or  proportion,  which  make  the  effect  agreeable  or  attrac- 
tive to  the  physical  eyes  or  ears;  and  of  significance,  inas- 
much as  it  fulfils  certain  psychical  laws,  as  of  association 
or  adaptability,  which  cause  it  to  symbolize  some  particular 
thought  or  emotion. — Art  in  Theory ^  Introduction. 


128  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

Goethe  once  said  that  his  poetry  had  been  a  continual 
confession.  Suppose  that  it  had  been  merely  a  confession. 
Would  this  alone  have  made  him  the  greatest  poet  of  his 
time?  To  become  such,  did  he  not  need,  besides  thinking 
of  the  significance  of  that  which  he  was  to  say,  to  think 
also  of  the  form  in  which  he  was  to  say  it  ?  And  was  not  the 
significance  one  thing,  and  the  form — the  versification, 
or  the  unity  of  the  plot — another  thing?  And  might  he 
not  have  paid  attention  to  the  one,  and  not  to  the  other? 
Most  certainly  he  might.  But  if  he  had  he  would  never 
have  ranked  where  he  does — with  Dante  and  Shakespeare. 
So  in  painting  and  sculpture.  The  figures  of  Benjamin 
West  and  Julius  Schnorr  are  arranged  more  effectively 
than  many  a  most  spectacularly  significant  climax  in  a 
drama;  those  of  Balthasar  Denner  and  Florent  Willems 
manifest  the  most  scrupulous  regard  for  the  requirements 
of  line  and  color.  Yet  because  exclusive  attention  to 
either  significance  or  form  led  all  of  them  to  neglect  one 
of  the  two,  they  never  can  rank  with  artists  of  which  this 
was  not  true — Raphael,  Titian,  and  Rubens. — Essentials  of 
Esthetics,  V. 

Do  those  who  hold  that  the  subject  of  art  can  be  "any- 
thing, "  continue  to  hold  on  to  their  belief  in  the  necessity 
of  a  strictly  artistic  treatment  of  this? — or  do  their  fol- 
lowers? It  may  be  a  new  suggestion,  but  the  plain  truth 
is  that  usually  they  do  not,  and  this  because  they  cannot. 
If  it  be  a  law,  as  is  maintained  in  "Art  in  Theory,"  that 
an  artist,  to  be  successful  in  his  work,  must  always  keep 
his  thought  upon  two  things, — form  in  itself,  and  signifi- 
cance in  the  form, — then  he  cannot  think  of  only  one  of 
these  without  doing  injury  to  both.  He  is  like  a  man  in 
a  circus,  riding  two  horses.  The  moment  that  he  neglects 
one  of  them,  it  shies  off  from  him;  and,  when  he  leans 
to  recover  his  control  of  this,  he  finds  himself  balanced 
away  from  the  other.  Very  soon,  unless  he  wish  to  keep 
up  a  jumping  exhibition,  for  which  his  audience  have 
not  paid,  he  will  either  ride  no  horse  at  all,  or  only  one, 
and  this  is  as  likely  as  otherwise  to  be  the  very  one  that 
he  at  first  neglected.  So  in  art:  unless  a  man  preserve  the 
equilibrium  between  the  requirements  of  form  and  of 
significance,  no  one  can  tell  which  of  the  two  will  finally 
appeal  to  him  more  strongly.     Significance  of  some  sort, 


Poutou  Temple,  Ningpo,  China 
See  pages  p,  12,  73,  81-85,  89,  qi.  147,  148,  162,  223-225,  301,  385 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  129 

for  instance,  to  apply  this  to  the  case  before  us,  is  eternally 
present  in  art,  no  matter  what  one's  theory  may  be  con- 
cerning it.  For  this  reason,  when  men  have  begun  to 
think  that  the  subject  of  art  may  be  "anything,"  so  long 
as  the  form  is  artistic,  some  of  them,  as  just  noticed,  will 
soon  begin  to  think  that  it  may  be  "anything  but  what  it 
should  be."  Before  long,  too,  they  will  come  to  suppose 
— just  as  people  come  to  admire  most  the  disagreeable 
eccentricities  of  those  whom  they  accept  as  leaders — that 
the  art  is  all  the  better  for  having  as  a  subject  "anything 
but  what  it  should  be. "  Does  this  result  appear  improba- 
ble? Recall  the  almost  universal  comment  of  the  art- 
editors  in  our  country  upon  the  rejection  of  the  nude  male 
figure  prepared  for  the  medal  of  the  Columbian  exhibition. 
The  comment — probably  true  enough  in  itself — was  that 
the  authorities  at  Washington  did  not  "understand"  or 
"appreciate  art."  But  think  of  any  one's  imagining  that 
this  fact  was  proved  by  this  particular  action? — as  if  the 
statues  of  our  statesmen  in  the  old  Hall  of  Representatives 
in  the  Capitol  could  not  be  specimens  of  art  unless  all  their 
pantaloons  were  chiselled  off! — as  if  appropriateness  of 
subject  and  of  treatment  had  nothing  to  do  with  art  in 
them  or  in  this  medal! — as  if  by  reproducing,  however 
successfully,  a  form  representative  of  Greek  life,  we  could 
atone,  in  a  distinctively  American  medal,  for  misrepre- 
senting American  life! — as  if,  in  short,  there  were  not  a 
large  number  of  other  considerations  far  more  important 
as  proving  the  possession  of  aesthetic  appreciation  than 
the  acceptance  of  a  subject  which,  when  exhibited  in  an 
advertisement,  would  inevitably  be  deemed  by  hundreds 
of  thousands  of  our  countrymen  "anything  but  what  it 
should  be!"  How  long  would  it  take  a  condition  of  art- 
appreciation,  of  which  such  a  criterion  were  the  test,  to 
fill  our  public  parks  with  imitated  Venuses  and  Apollos, 
meaningless  to  our  people  except  as  reminders  of  the 
reigning  beauties  of  else  forgotten  "living  pictures"? 
What  would  be  the  effect  upon  our  growing  youth,  were 
the  thoughts  excited  by  such  productions  to  be  substi- 
tuted for  the  nobler  and  purer  inspiration  of  works  like 
St.  Gaudens*  "Farragut,"  or  McMonnies'  recently  erected 
"Nathan  Hale"? 

The  influence  upon  sculpture  of  this  supposition  that  a 
subject  of  art  may  be  "anything, "  has  not  yet,  fortunately, 


130  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

in  our  country,  been  fully  revealed.  But  the  same  can- 
not be  said  with  reference  to  poetry.  There  are  plenty 
of  people  among  us,  neither  vicious  nor  morbid  in  their 
tastes,  who,  nevertheless,  are  inclined  to  fancy  that,  con- 
sidered aesthetically,  a  shady  theme  is  not  only  excusa- 
ble but  desirable,  when  furnishing  a  background  from 
which  to  project  into  relief  a  brilliancy  of  treatment. 
Therefore,  for  his  brilliancy,  they  accepted  Swinburne 
when  he  first  appeared;  and  to-day,  though  far  less  brilliant, 
they  have  taken  up  with  Ibsen.  How  would  it  be,  accus- 
tomed as  they  are  now  to  these  morbid  themes,  were 
another  Ibsen  to  appear,  an  Ibsen  so  far  as  concerned  his 
subjects,  but  without  the  present  Ibsen's  dramatizing 
skill?  Would  he,  too,  though  destitute  of  the  elements 
of  form  which  once  their  school  considered  the  essential 
test  of  art, — would  he,  too,  be  accepted  as  a  foremost  poet 
or  dramatist?  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  he  certainly  would. 
Most  of  the  service  of  praise  to  Whitman  in  the  Madison 
Square  Theatre  in  New  York,  some  ten  years  ago,  was 
piped  by  our  little  metropolitan  singers,  whose  highest 
ideal  of  a  poet  had  been  Swinburne,  and  whose  most 
vehement  artistic  energy  had  hitherto  expended  itself 
almost  entirely  upon  dainty  turns  of  melody  in  rondeaus 
and  villanelles.  The  result  merely  verified  an  old  well- 
known  principle.  Extremes  meet.  The  apotheosis  of 
form,  when  the  smoke  of  the  incense  clears  away,  reveals, 
enthroned  on  high,  a  Whitman;  and  not  in  any  of  Whit- 
man's works  is  there  even  a  suggestion  of  that  kind  of 
excellence  in  form,  which  once  his  worshippers  supposed 
to  furnish  the  only  standard  of  poetic  merit. 

Precisely  the  same  principle  is  exemplified  in  painting, 
too.  When  an  artist  starts  out  with  an  idea  that  the  sub- 
ject of  art  may  be  "  anything, "  of  course  he  begins  to  develop 
the  form  for  its  own  sake.  He  has  nothing  else  to  do. 
But  form  may  mean  many  different  things.  With  some, 
it  means  the  imitation  of  natural  outlines  or  colors.  With 
some,  it  hardly  means  imitation  at  all.  It  means  the 
development  of  color  according  to  the  laws  of  harmony. 
Even  where  the  subject  of  art  is  a  person,  even  in  portraiture, 
there  are  critics  who  tell  us  that  the  result  should  not  be 
judged  by  its  likeness  to  the  person  depicted.  It  is  not  a 
photograph,  forsooth.  It  is  a  painting,  to  be  judged  by  the 
paint,  they  say,  and  mean,  apparently,  by  the  color,   irre- 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  131 

spective  of  its  appearance  in  the  face  portrayed.  Of  course, 
this  supposition  will  be  deemed  by  some  unwarranted. 
Few  would  second  it,  made  thus  baldly.  But  we  must 
judge  of  beliefs  by  practices ;  and  scarcely  an  art-exhibition 
in  New  York  fails  to  show  some  portraits  on  the  walls — nor 
the  ones  least  praised — in  which  those  slight  variations  of 
hue  which  every  careful  observer  recognizes  to  be  essential 
to  the  effects  of  life  in  the  human  countenance,  are  so 
exaggerated  for  the  sake  of  mere  effects  of  color  that  faces 
in  robust  health  are  made  to  look  exactly  as  if  breaking  out 
with  the  measles;  or,  not  infrequently,  as  if  the  victim  had 
had  the  disease,  and  died  of  it.  Thus  in  painting  as  in 
poetry,  and  the  same  fact  might  be  exemplified  in  all  the 
arts,  exclusive  attention  to  form, — the  conception  that  art 
is  the  application  of  its  laws  to  "anything" — may  lead  in  the 
end,  and  very  swiftly  too,  to  the  destruction  not  only  of  all 
in  art  that  is  inspiring  to  the  soul,  but  even  of  that  which  is 
pleasing  to  the  senses.  A  law  of  art-form  is  worth  nothing 
except  as  it  is  applied  to  forms  that  have  worth;  and  that 
which  gives  them  worth  is  not  by  any  means  synonymous 
with  that  which  makes  them  "anything." — Rhythm  and 
Harmony  in  Poetry  and  Music,  Preface. 

This  fact,  that  certain  characteristics  of  art  are  wellnigh 
entirely  dependent  upon  form  considered  as  significant, 
while  certain  others  are  equally  dependent  on  form  con- 
sidered merely  in  itself,  makes  the  tasks  both  of  the  art 
producer  and  of  the  art-critic  peculiarly  difficult.  To 
neglect  the  requirements  of  significance  is  to  disregard 
the  soul  of  art,  that  which  is  the  very  substance  of  its 
life;  and  to  neglect  the  requirements  of  form  is  to  disregard 
its  body,  that  which  is  essential  to  its  artistic  effective- 
ness.— Idem:  Introduction  to  Music  as  a  Representative  Art, 

Do  I  mean  to  say,  therefore,  that  every  artist,  when  com- 
posing, must  consciously  think  of  significance  and  also 
of  form?  Not  necessarily.  Many  a  child  unconsciously 
gestures  in  a  form  exactly  indicative  of  his  meaning.  But 
often,  owing  to  acquired  inflexibilit}^  or  unnaturalness,  the 
same  person,  when  grown,  unconsciously  gestures  in  a  form 
not  indicative  of  his  meaning.  What  then?  If  he  wish  to 
be  an  actor,  he  must  study  the  art  of  gesture,  and  for  a 
time,  at  least,  must  produce  the  right  gestures  consciously. 
And  besides  this,  whether  he  produce  them  consciously  or 


132  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

unconsciously,  in  the  degree  in  which  he  is  an  artist  in  the 
best  sense,  he  will  know  what  form  he  is  using,  and  why  he  is 
using  it.  The  fact  is  that  the  human  mind  is  incapable  of 
taking  in  any  form  without  being  informed  of  something 
by  it;  and  it  is  the  business  of  intelligent,  not  to  say  honest, 
art  to  see  to  it  that  the  information  conveyed  is  not  false, 
that  the  thing  made  corresponds  to  the  thing  meant. 
— Essay  on  Art  and  Education. 

It  might  be  inferred  from  what  has  been  said  that  the 
requirements  of  form  and  of  significance  are  essentially 
different.  Indeed,  many  artists  and  critics,  apparently, 
imagine  that,  in  order  to  do  justice  to  one  of  the  two, 
they  must  subordinate  the  other  or  neglect  it  altogether. 
This  supposition  has  led  to  two  schools  of  art,  the  one 
grounding  it,  primarily,  upon  imitation,  the  other  upon 
the  communication  of  thought  and  emotion.  But  why 
should  there  be  these  two  schools?  A  man  usually  imi- 
tates a  form  because  he  has  had  some  thought  or  feeling 
in  connection  with  its  appearance, — in  other  words,  be- 
cause it  has  suggested  something  to  him,  because  it  has 
had  for  him  some  significance.  The  very  existence  of 
art-form,  therefore,  involves  the  existence  of  significance. 
Again,  a  man  communicates  thought  and  emotion  through  a 
form  because  these,  in  the  condition  in  which  they  exist  in 
the  mind,  cannot  be  heard  or  seen  by  others.  They  must  be 
expressed  audibly  or  visibly;  that  is  to  say,  in  a  form.  The 
existence  of  significance,  therefore,  if  one  would  make  it 
known,  involves  the  use  of  a  form. — Essentials  of  Esthetics, 

V. 

FORM  AND   SPIRIT. 

To  determine  aright  the  relations  that  should  exist 
between  form  and  spirit  is  to  solve  the  most  important, 
perhaps,  of  human  problems.  Ideally,  of  course,  the  one 
should  be  a  perfect  expression  of  the  other;  but,  in  this 
world,  nothing  is  ideal  or  perfect ;  and  in  nothing  is  the  fact 
more  clearly  exemplified  than  in  the  frequent  failure  of  a 
form  to  represent  that  which,  apparently,  it  exists  for  the 
sole  purpose  of  representing.  To  recognize,  and,  so  far  as 
possible,  to  remedy  this  condition,  are  primal  obligations 
of  intelligence ;  and  this  fact  justifies  the  extensive  treatment 
of  the  subject  which  has  characterized  the  literature  of  all 
periods. — Introduction  to  "Cecil  the  Seer.'' 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  133 

FORM,  ARTISTIC  AS  DEVELOPED  FROM  NATURAL. 

Unless  a  man  could  and  did  hum  in  this  apparently  use- 
less way,  it  is  not  likely  that  any  conception  of  musical  art 
could  ever  be  suggested  to  him.  At  any  rate,  it  is  true  as  a 
fact  that  it  is  never  until  something  in  connection  with  the 
form  in  which  he  hums — the  movement,  the  tune — attracts 
his  attention,  charms  him,  seems  beautiful  to  him,  and  he 
begins  to  experiment  or  play  with  it  for  its  own  sake, 
irrespective  of  any  aim  having  to  do  with  material  utility, 
that  he  begins  to  develop  the  possibilities  of  the  musician. 
In  a  precisely  similar  way,  talking  to  oneself  may  be  said 
to  be  the  underlying  condition  of  poetry.  When  a  man, 
because  interested  in  some  ulterior  object,  is  talking  to 
others,  he  has  neither  the  time  nor  the  inclination  to  think 
of  the  form  that  he  is  using.  It  is  only  when  something  in 
connection  with  the  form — the  metaphors,  similes,  sounds 
of  the  syllables,  or  words — attracts  his  attention,  charms 
him,  seems  beautiful  to  him,  and  he  begins  to  experiment  or 
play  with  it  for  its  own  sake — it  is  only  then  that  he  begins 
to  develop  the  possibilities  of  the  poet. 

A  rude  outline  can  convey  all  that  is  essential  to  suggest 
to  oneself  or  to  others  the  idea  of  a  horse.  When  a  man, 
simply  to  give  vent  to  the  excess  of  energy  in  his  expressional 
nature,  delays  over  the  outline,  adding  to  what  would  be 
necessary  in  hieroglyphic  writing,  for  instance,  limnings 
and  colors  that  make  the  representation  more  complete  or 
ornate,  he  is  moved  by  the  art-impulse.  When  again, 
merely  to  give  vent  to  this  energy,  besides  shaping,  he 
shapes  carefully,  or  ornaments  clothing,  knives,  forks,  or 
other  implements;  and,  still  more,  when  he  does  all  this  in 
connection  with  busts  and  statues,  which,  from  their  very 
nature  by  imaging  human  forms  and  faces,  are  peculi- 
arly adapted  for  the  expression  of  human  thought 
and  feeling,  then  again  he  is  moved  by  this  impulse. 
Once  more,  when  in  constructing  by  way  of  combina- 
tion any  object,  but  especially  a  house  with  which  we 
always  associate  a  human  presence,  he  adds  to  it,  above 
what  is  necessary,  pillars,  porches,  window-caps,  corni- 
ces, cupolas,  and  always  in  the  degree  in  which  these 
are  distinctly  expressive  of  human  sentiment — as  in  a 
church,  for  instance, — then,  too,  he  is  influenced  by  the 
art-impulse.  It  is  almost  superfluous  to  point  out  that, 
in  these  three  cases,  respectively,  we  find  the  conditions 


134  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

leading  to   painting,  sculpture,  and  architecture. — Art  in 
Theory y  viii. 

FORM,  HUMAN  {see  ARTISTIC  CONCEPTIONS,  BEAUTY  HUMAN, 

PROPORTION  IN  HUMAN  FORMS,  REPRESENTATIVE  EFFECTS 

IN  GESTURES,  and  TASTE  DISCREPANCIES). 

FORM  IN  AN  ART- WORK  CONSIDERED  AS  A  WHOLE. 

When  we  have  any  conception  to  communicate  to  others, 
we  instinctively  associate  it  with  some  sight  or  sound  in  the 
external  world.  Otherwise,  as  thought  itself  is  invisible 
and  inaudible,  we  might  not  be  able  to  make  them  acquainted 
with  it.  For  instance,  this  term  expression,  just  used, 
means  a  pressing  out, — an  operation  that  can  be  affirmed 
literally  only  of  a  material  substance  which  is  forcibly 
expelled  from  another  material  substance;  but,  because  we 
recognize  a  possibility  of  comparison  between  this  opera- 
tion and  the  way  in  which  immaterial  thought  is  made  to 
leave  the  immaterial  mind,  we  use  the  term  as  we  do.  So 
with  thousands  of  terms  like  understanding,  uprightness, 
clearness,  muddled,  etc.  Carrying  out  the  same  principle, 
the  ancients  represented  whole  sentences  through  the  use  of 
hieroglyphics;  and  geometricians  and  scientists,  even  of  our 
own  times,  represent  whole  arguments — the  logical  relations 
of  abstract  ideas  and  the  physical  relations  of  intangible 
forces — through  the  use  of  lines  and  figures.  In  a  similar 
way  and  with  a  similar  justification,  we  can  apply  the  princi- 
ple to  the  expression  of  thought  in  a  subject  considered 
as  a  whole.  .  .  Not  merely,  as  judged  by  separate 
illustrations,  but  by  general  arrangement,  that  oration  or 
poem  is  the  most  successful  which  presents  the  thought 
in  this  depicted  or  graphic  way, — a  way  that  causes  the 
hearer  or  reader  to  seem  to  see  all  the  lines  of  the  argument 
mapped  out  before  him,  the  entire  framework  of  the  ideas 
built  up  and  standing  in  front  of  him.  But  before  a  speaker 
or  writer  can  produce  such  an  effect,  he  himself  must  be 
able  to  see  his  subject  lying  before  him,  or  rising  in  front 
of  him;  in  other  words,  he  must  be  able  to  conceive  of  it  as 
comparable  to  some  external  object  whose  shape  or  move- 
ment can  be  perceived. — Essay  on  Art  and  Logical  Form. 

Almost  all  critics  of  all  ages  have  felt  it  to  be  appropriate 
to  take  an  animal  or  a  man,  the  highest  type  of  an  organized 
being,  as  an  ideal  natural  form  from  which  to  derive  sug- 
gestions with  reference  to  the  essential  characteristics  of 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  135 

an  ideal  art-form.  Plato,  for  instance,  named  head,  trunk, 
and  feet  as  the  three  essential  features  in  every  work  of  art ; 
and  Aristotle,  recalling  the  fact  that  all  products  do  not 
appeal  to  the  eye,  and  cannot  seem  to  have  visible  bodies, 
tried  to  state  a  principle  more  general  in  its  reach  by  declar- 
ing that  they  must  all  have  beginning,  middle,  and  end. 
But  both  statements  are  virtually  the  same,  and  together 
are  inclusive  of  all  possible  artistic  applications  of  the  sub- 
ject. The  first  applies  literally  to  forms  that  appear  in 
space,  the  second  to  those  that  appear  in  time.  Both  mean 
that  there  should  be  such  an  order  in  the  arrangement  of  the 
parts  constituting  the  form  as  to  cause  all  the  parts  to 
seem  to  be  organically  connected  with  one  whole,  and  this 
whole  to  seem  to  possess  all  the  parts  necessary  to  render 
it  complete. — The  Genesis  of  Art-Form,  vi. 

In  arranging  a  number  of  objects  or  individuals  to  be 
represented  in  the  same  picture,  an  artist  will  almost  invari- 
ably place  the  larger  or  more  prominent  in  the  centre  or  at 
the  top,  thus  giving  the  group  a  head;  and  the  others  on 
either  side  or  below,  thus  giving  it  a  trunk  and  feet ;  while  he 
will  dispose  of  all  the  members  in  such  ways  that  the  con- 
tour of  the  group,  as  outlined  by  all  their  forms  together, 
shall  seem  to  have  some  shape — that  suggesting  a  circle,  an 
arch,  or  a  pyramid,  as  the  case  may  be. 

In  architecture,  the  foundation  corresponds  to  the  foot, 
the  wall  to  the  trunk,  and  the  roof  to  the  head.  All  these 
features  taken  together  may  present  effects  of  grouping 
similar  to  those  in  painting  and  sculpture.  The  various 
projections,  gables,  pediments,  chimneys,  domes,  spires, 
whatever  they  may  be,  that  make  up  the  wings  and  roofs, 
may  be  arranged  so  that,  taken  together,  they  can  be  in- 
scribed in  a  low  or  a  high  arch,  rounded  or  sharpened  like 
a  pyramid.  As  a  rule,  the  greater  the  appearance  of  the 
exercise  of  design  in  the  organic  arrangement  of  these 
features,  the  more  satisfactory  are  they  to  the  eye  that 
looks  to  find  in  them  the  results  of  art. — Essentials  of 
Esthetics,  XIV. 

FORM  IN  ART  NOT  ALWAYS  DETERMINED  BY  THE  FORM  IN 

NATURE. 

Our  first  conception  would  be  that  the  sight  or  sound 
perceived  in  nature  would  of  itself  indicate  the  forms  in 
which  the  thoughts  or  feelings  awakened  in  connection  with 


136  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

it  should  be  reproduced  in  art.  Such  is  sometimes  the 
case.  It  would  always  be  the  case,  if  art  were  a  mere 
imitation.  But,  whether  imitative  or  not,  art  is  also  an 
expression  of  thought  and  emotion,  and,  because  it  is  so,  the 
form  used  must,  at  times,  be  subordinated  to  the  require- 
ments of  that  which  is  to  be  expressed.  To  illustrate  this, 
suppose  a  man  to  have  listened  to  the  story  of  a  battle.  It 
might  be  presumed  that  a  representation  of  what  he  has 
heard  would  also  assume  the  form  of  a  story,  and  therefore 
be  artistically  expressed  in  a  poem.  But  often  the  effect  of 
the  story  upon  his  imagination,  as  also  of  his  imagination 
upon  it,  is  such  that  what  is  experienced  can  be  represented 
truthfully  only  through  a  picture.  Again,  it  happens  some- 
times that  the  forms  through  which  the  effects  have  been 
exerted,  have  lingered  so  long  in  his  mind,  and  experi- 
enced so  many  modifications  there  that,  though  critical 
analysis  may  detect,  as  in  architecture  and  music,  that 
the  effects  produced  have  been  suggested  by  forms  in 
nature,  the  artist  himself  is  unconscious  of  what  these 
forms  were. — Idem,  ix. 

FORM,  STUDY  OF,  NEGLECTED  BY  ANGLO-SAXONS  (see  TECH- 
NIQUE). 

Misunderstanding  of  the  relations  to  expression  of  techni- 
que and  consequent  suspicion  of  it,  is  common  in  our  own 
country.  I  sometimes  think  that  it  is  constitutional  with 
us.  Certainly  no  race  manifests  such  possibilities  of  error 
in  this  direction  as  does  the  Anglo-Saxon.  Many  of  us 
have  apparently  become  so  accustomed  to  see  a  form  used 
to  express  a  mental  condition  diametrically  the  opposite  of 
that  which  it  should  express,  that  we  have  ceased  to  recog- 
nize any  necessity  of  having  the  one  correlated  to  the  other. 
Is  there  any  other  race  among  whom  an  ideal  hero  is  a  man 
like  Rochester  in  "Jane  Eyre, "  Bertie  in  ''The  Henrietta, " 
or  the  "Disagreeable  Man"  in  "Ships  that  Pass  in  the 
Night" — a  man  whose  exterior  exactly  misrepresents  his  in- 
terior? Is  it  a  wonder,  either,  that  this  nonconformity  of  the 
ideal  to  the  real  in  actual  life  should  influence  conceptions 
of  art?  An  Italian  or  a  Frenchman  with  a  voice  natu- 
rally melodious,  a  frame  naturally  graceful,  and  both  natu- 
rally flexible,  seems  to  believe  instinctively  that  the  form 
of  expression  should  be,  and  can  be,  conformed  to  that  which 
is  behind  it;  and  he  seldom  thinks  of  appearing  in  public 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  137 

until  he  has  studied  sufficiently  to  secure  this  result.  But 
an  Englishman  or  an  American  who,  as  a  rule,  has  by  nature 
either  an  inarticulate  drawl  or  a  nasal  twang,  and  an  awk- 
wardness not  only  unthinking  but  unthinkable,  he,  for- 
sooth, must  hold  a  theory  that  any  study  of  elocutionary 
technique  is  unnecessary! — Essay  on  the  Function  of 
Technique. 

FORM  VS  SIGNIFICANCE  IN  ART  {see  SIGNIFICANCE  VS.  FORM). 

Go  to  critics  of  literature  who  believe  that  art  is  "the 
application  to  anything"  of  the  laws  of  art-form — which, 
for  reasons  given  on  page  235,  is  a  strictly  just  way  of 
shortening  what  is  meant  by  the  exceedingly  loose  use  of 
the  term  proportion  in  the  above  definition — and  ask  them 
who  is  the  first  English  poet  of  the  age.  They  will  probably 
answer — and  few  would  differ  from  them — Swinburne. 
Now  ask  them  what  is  the  influence  upon  life  of  the  thought 
presented  in  his  poetry,  what  is  the  particular  phase  of 
inspiration  to  be  derived  from  it;  and  they  will  probably 
answer  that  to  them  as  critics  this  is  immaterial ;  that  not  the 
thoughts  of  the  poet,  not  his  subjects  give  him  his  rank,  but 
his  manner  of  presenting  them,  his  style,  the  rhythm  of  his 
verse,  and  its  harmony  as  produced  by  alliteration,  asso- 
nance, or  rhyme.  Again,  ask  a  critic  of  painting  of  the  same 
school  to  show  you  the  best  picture  in  a  gallery.  He  is  as 
likely  as  not  to  point  you  to  the  figtire  of  a  woman,  too  lightly 
clothed,  posing  not  too  unconsciously  near  some  water;  or, 
too  heavily  clothed,  sitting  in  front  of  a  mirror.  You  ask 
him  what  is  the  peculiar  phase  of  thought  expressed  in  this 
picture,  the  particular  inspiration  for  life  to  be  derived  from 
it;  and  he  will  look  at  you  and  laugh.  Nothing  to-day,  in 
our  country,  is  supposed  to  show  more  ignorance  about 
art,  than  the  conception  that  interest  in  a  picture  has  any- 
thing to  do  with  a  subject,  or  with  its  suggesting  a  story, 
whether  inspiring  or  otherwise.  We  must  judge  of  the 
picture,  we  are  told,  entirely  by  the  form,  the  style,  the 
use  in  it  of  light  and  shade  and  color. 

But,  you  say,  there  certainly  was  a  time  when  theories 
of  art  were  different.  Dante,  Milton,  Wordsworth,  yes, 
and  Shakespeare,  Goethe,  and  Schiller  too, — all  these  had 
style  or  form,  yet  what  one  thinks  of  chiefly,  when  he 
reads  them,  is  not  this,  but  the  thought  that  is  behind  it. 
Then  there  is  Raphael.     On  a  Sunday,  one  could  sit  for 


138  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

an  hour  before  the  Sistine  Madonna,  and  feel  more  bene- 
fited than  in  most  of  the  churches.  But  Raphael's  is  not 
a  name,  you  find,  with  which  to  charm  the  modern  critic. 
You  are  told  that  you  are  behind  the  age.  This  state- 
ment gives  you  a  new  suggestion,  and  you  proceed  to 
apply  it.  You  ask  yourself  if  you  are  also  behind  the  age 
in  your  conceptions  of  literary  art.  You  take  up  the 
nearest  periodical  and  read  the  poetry  in  it,  and  its  criti- 
cisms upon  poetry.  What  are  the  new  poets  doing? 
What  is  it  in  their  work  that  excites  praise  ?  The  thought  ? 
— its  breadth  of  conception?  its  completeness  of  develop- 
ment? its  power  of  expressing  truth  fitted  to  uplift  spiritu- 
ally? How  often  do  we  see,  in  an  American  criticism,  any- 
thing like  an  analysis  of  a  new  American  poem  ?  How  often 
do  we  see  an  effort  to  bring  to  light  the  subtle  character  of 
the  philosophy  of  which  it  is  the  expression?  And  there  is 
the  kindliest  of  reasons  why  these  are  not  seen.  A  suggestion 
of  logical  arrangement,  as  in  Dante  or  Milton,  a  hint  of 
ethical  maxims,  though  set  as  brilliantly  as  in  Shakespeare  or 
Schiller,  would  give  a  poet  of  our  own  day,  were  he  com- 
mended for  these  particularly,  a  hard  tramp  up  the  road  to 
recognition.  What  our  people  want  is  style,  form.  * '  Yes, ' * 
say  the  critics,  "but  imaginative  form.  You  can't  object 
to  that."  Certainly  one  can — to  imagination  used  for 
mere  form's  sake.  Imaginative  form  has  value  only  when 
it  images  a  truth;  and  this  is  that  which  our  modern  critics 
have  forgotten.  Any  comparison,  however  odious,  will 
do  for  them,  if  it  be  only  a  comparison,  and  almost  any 
style  if  it  only  ring,  even  if  as  hollow  as  some  of  the  French 
forms  of  verse  that  our  magazines  admire  so  much.  Not,  of 
course,  that  the  style  must  always  be  as  dainty  as  in  these. 
Some  of  us  prefer  to  take  it — as  the  English  do  their  cheese 
— strong,  with  plenty  of  light  and  shade,  and  if  the  former 
be  leprous  and  the  latter  smutty,  so  long  as  the  effects  are 
anything  but  weak,  our  critics,  especially  of  our  religious 
journals,  are  apt  to  like  it  all  the  better.  The  truth  is  that 
the  moment  that,  through  an  overbalancing  regard  for  form, 
people  come  to  think  that  it  alone  has  value,  and  that  the 
subject  in  art  is  immaterial,  they  are  in  a  fair  way  to  become 
realists  in  that  very  worst  sense  in  which  it  means  believers 
in  the  portrayal  in  art  of  any  amount  of  ugliness  or  nastiness 
so  long  as  it  be  only  that  which  they  term  "true  to  nature.  '* 
This  is  the  belief  which,  at  present,  is  uppermost  in  France, 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  139 

brought  about  in  that  country  by  the  predominating 
influence,  through  more  than  one  century,  of  a  materialistic 
art-philosophy.  .  .  .  And  this  French  attitude  of  mind 
toward  art, — art  which  some  believe  to  be  the  handmaid  of 
civilization  and  religion,  and  the  most  powerfully  elevating 
of  any  purely  human  influence; — this  attitude  of  mind  and 
this  direction  toward  high  achievement  in  art,  is  that  to 
which  almost  all  those  potent  in  criticism  in  our  country, 
to-day,  are  doing  their  utmost  to  point  our  own  people. — 
Rhythm  and  Harmony  in  Poetry  and  Music,  Preface. 

FORM  vs.   SIGNIFICANCE  IN  MUSIC. 

And  so  with  music.  The  difference  between  a  melody 
of  Offenbach  and  the  least  successful  recitative-work  of 
Wagner  is  the  difference  between  treating  musical  form  as 
if  it  were  wholly  a  matter  of  form,  and  as  if  it  were  wholly 
a  matter  of  significance.  The  difference  between  both  and 
the  best  music  of  Wagner,  and  of  Mozart,  Beethoven,  and 
Sullivan,  too,  is  that  in  this  latter  the  equilibrium  between 
the  two  tendencies  in  art  is  maintained. — Idem,  Introduction 
to  Music  as  a  Representative  Art. 

FORM,   WHY  ART  ORIGINATES  IT. 

Art  is  a  development  of  the  earliest  endeavor  of  men  to 
give  form  to  thought  for  which  they  have  no  form  at 
their  command.  It  is  not  at  the  command  of  the  savage 
or  of  the  child,  simply  because  no  form  appropriate  has 
come,  as  yet,  within  the  very  limited  range  of  his  experience 
or  information.  It  is  not  always  at  the  command  of  the 
cultivated  man,  because,  often,  all  forms  with  which  he  is 
acquainted  seem  to  be  inadequate.  Accordingly  the 
uncultivated  and  the  cultivated  alike  are  impelled  to  origi- 
nate expressions  for  themselves.  In  doing  this,  they  are 
obliged  to  interpret  nature  in  a  certain  way.  They  must 
think  about  that  which  they  have  observed,  and  before  they 
have  had  time  to  examine  it  critically,  through  the  exercise 
of  their  conscious  powers,  they  must  judge  of  it  instinctively 
through  the  exercise  of  their  unconscious  promptings.  This 
principle  applies,  not  only  to  their  use,  for  purposes  of  expres- 
sion, of  imaginative  words  and  imitative  drawings,  but  to 
their  whole  methods  of  conceiving  of  the  material  world. 
The  boy  hears  of  a  sailor  or  of  a  general,  and  for  the  very 
reason  that  he  has  had  no  experience  of  the  life  led  by  either, 
he  imagines  it,  and  the  man  in  the  same  condition  surmises 


I40  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

what  might  be  the  experience  of  a  fairy  or  of  a  saint. — 
Essentials  of  Esthetics,  iii. 

FORMS,  IMPORTANCE  OF  INTERPRETING  THEM  IN  ART  AND 

NATURE. 

It  is  hoped  that  a  few  examples  which,  possibly,  on  second 
thought,  the  author  might  explain,  or  the  reader  apprehend 
differently,  will  not  deter  any  from  a  serious  consideration  of 
the  principles  themselves,  the  acceptance  of  which  cannot 
fail  to  have  an  important  influence  upon  all  one's  views 
either  of  art  or  of  life.  For,  if  true,  they  show  that  the 
poems,  symphonies,  paintings,  statues,  and  buildings  pro- 
duced by  the  artist  differ  from  the  elementary  forms  of  these 
produced  before  his  appearance,  mainly  in  the  greater 
degree  in  which  he  has  learned  to  read  through  forms, 
whether  human  or  not,  that  which  is  in  the  soul  of  man  and 
of  all  things.  For  one  who  practises  art  or  enjoys  it,  or 
takes  any  interest  in  it  whatever,  though  not  beyond  a 
perception  that  it  is  about  him  and  has  come  to  stay;  and 
not  only  for  such  an  one,  but  for  all  who  live  in  a  world 
surrounded  by  appearances  which  could  awaken  infinitely 
more  interest,  were  it  believed  that  every  slightest  feature  of 
them  might  be  recognized  to  be  definitely  significant  and 
suggestive  and,  therefore,  instructive  and  inspiring, — 
this,  certainly,  is  a  conception  of  art  and  of  life  and  of  the 
relations  between  them,  which  is  worth  holding. — Paintings 
Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,  Preface. 

FORMS,  THINKING  THROUGH  USE  OF. 

Most  of  us  are  not  aware  of  the  extent  to  which  we  think 
through  this  use  of  forms.  We  fancy  that  we  think  through 
the  use  of  words.  So  we  do,  but  only  so  far  as  words  have 
been  made  arbitrarily  to  take  the  place  of  forms.  We 
think  in  dreams,  do  we  not?  In  these,  what  are  we  doing 
except  thinking?  Yet  how  many  words  do  we  seem  to 
hear  in  our  dreams?  The  vast  bulk  of  our  experience  then 
appears  to  pass  before  consciousness  in  visible  pictures. 
The  same  may  be  affirmed  of  what  occurs  during  our 
reveries,  though  we  seldom  analyze  these  sufficiently  to 
discover  the  fact. — Essay  on  Teaching  in  Drawing. 

FORMULATION,  NEEDED  IN  ALL  INVENTION. 

A  principle  or  law  which  has  never  been  applied  in  inven- 
tion can  have  no  existence  until  it  has  been  given  a  form; 
and  it  cannot  be  given  a  form  until  the  image  of  it  has  been 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  141 

conceived  in  the  mind.  Therefore,  in  order  to  be  able  to 
invent,  a  mind  must,  first  of  all,  be  able  to  think  in  images. 
This  is  the  same  as  to  say  that  an  original  product,  before  it 
can  become  real,  must  be  ideal, — in  other  words,  that  the 
main  difference  between  the  action  of  the  mind  in  physical 
construction  and  in  metaphysical,  is  in  the  order  of  time  in 
which  the  one  or  the  other  appears.  After  the  preliminary 
work  in  the  imagination,  the  arts  separate.  That  which 
the  mind  seems  to  see,  the  poet  records  in  words,  the 
painter  in  pigments,  the  architect  in  brick  and  mortar,  the 
machinist  in  wood  and  iron. — Idem. 

FORMULATION,    THE   CHIEF   FUNCTION   OF    SYSTEMIZING. 

A  scientist,  philosopher,  or  statesman  is  often  successful 
in  the  degree  alone  in  which  he  is  able  to  visualize  the 
material  effects  of  a  collection  of  facts,  principles,  or  motives, 
in  such  a  way  as  to  substitute  for  the  chaos  in  which  they 
ordinarily  appear,  what  we  term  a  well-outlined  system. 
There  is  no  radical  difference  in  mental  action  between 
planning  a  military  campaign  executed  by  guns  through  the 
agency  of  bullets,  and  a  political  campaign  executed  by 
words  through  the  agency  of  ballots. — Idem. 

GENERAL  AND  DISTANT  VS.  SPECIFIC  AND  NEAR  ART-EFFECTS 

{see  also  perspective,  and  proportion  dependent  on 

APPARENT  NOT  ACTUAL  MEASUREMENTS). 

One  not  acquainted  with  the  methods  of  reproducing 
in  color  the  effects  of  nature  might  suppose  that  it  would 
be  necessary  merely  to  go  into  the  fields,  and  examine 
near  at  hand  the  colors,  appearing,  say,  on  a  rose  or  a  bush, 
match  them  exactly  with  his  pigments,  and  then  use,  on 
his  canvas,  these  pigments  thus  determined.  But  every 
one  of  experience  knows  that  much  more  is  necessary; 
and  this  for  the  simple  reason  that  colors,  when  blended 
and  seen  from  a  distance  under  the  influence  of  light  and 
shade,  are  very  different  in  appearance  than  when  seen 
near  at  hand.  A  certain  fresco  in  Paris,  when  examined 
closely,  shows  the  flesh  of  a  human  figure  to  be  painted 
in  green.  Owing  to  the  influence  of  surrounding  colors, 
no  other  color,  at  a  distance,  could  be  made  to  have  the 
effect  of  flesh.  Contours  are  impressed  upon  the  retina 
in  connection  with  the  same  processes  as  those  that  impress 
colors  upon  it.  These  latter  indeed  frequently  seem  to 
compose  the  whole  image,  outlines  being  merely  effects  pror 


142  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

duced  where  one  color  changes  to  another.  Why  should 
it  not  be  recognized  that  to  imitate  the  appearance  of  out- 
lines necessitates  the  reproduction  of  general  effects,  in  the 
same  sense  that  it  does  to  imitate  colors?  But  is  this 
recognized?  Undoubtedly — in  painting  and  sculpture ;  but 
not,  in  our  times,  in  architecture.  Yet  it  is  as  rational 
for  a  man  to  suppose  that  he  can  produce  satisfactory 
effects  of  outline  through  causing  a  building  to  measure  just 
as  many  inches  across  the  top  as  across  the  bottom,  or 
through  causing  a  cornice  to  be  exactly  straight,  or  causing 
columns  to  be  exactly  the  same  distance  apart,  as  it  would  be 
for  him  to  suppose  that  he  could  produce  satisfactory  effects 
of  color  by  exactly  matching  with  his  pigments  the  apparent 
hues  of  a  rose  or  a  bush,  when  examined  close  at  hand. 
— Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color ^  xiv. 

Whatever  benefit  we  may  derive,  therefore,  and  it  may  be 
much,  from  the  accurate  measurements  of  the  buildings  of 
the  Greeks,  we  can  never  find  out,  in  this  way  alone,  those 
elements  of  proportion  which  they  esteemed  of  most  im- 
portance. ...  To  understand  what  these  elements  were 
we  must  examine  their  buildings,  as  intimated  on  page  35, 
not  near  at  hand,  but  from  a  distance.  The  same  holds 
good  in  principle  as  applied  to  the  processes  through  which 
we  come  to  understand  any  works  of  art.  If  we  wish  to 
study  Raphael,  we  do  not  start  by  trying  to  detect  the  way 
in  which  he  put  the  paint  upon  his  canvas.  We  sit  before  a 
finished  work  of  his  where  we  can  gaze,  unconscious  of 
the  paint,  at  what  seems  flesh  and  blood  infused  with  thought 
and  grace  and  beauty.  We  feel  his  composition  in  our 
souls  before  we  touch  it  with  our  fingers.  If  we  wish  to 
study  Shakespere,  we  do  not  start  by  testing  how  his  lines 
will  parse  and  scan.  We  read,  or  we  hear  read,  an  act  or  a 
scene.  We  listen  to  the  music  of  his  sentences.  We  heed 
the  accents  of  the  living  men  of  his  drama.  We  note  the 
play  of  fancy  that  passes  between  them,  their  bursts  of 
passion  and  the  friction  of  their  thoughts  as  they  flame  out 
so  that  heaven  and  hell  both  brighten  to  reveal  their 
secrets.  We  move  with  ordinary  men  and  women,  but 
cast  in  a  heroic  mould.  We  live  in  history  that  was 
dead  but  has  found  a  resurrection.  We  revel  in  the  bliss  of 
a  new  world  that  the  poet's  genius  has  created.  These 
are  facts  that  pedants  never  seem  to  realize.     They  teach 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  143 

the  spelling-book  and  mathematics,  and  think  that  out 
of  these  the  works  of  art  develop.  But  works  of  art  are 
germed  in  seed  that  drops  down  from  above.  Like  Min- 
erva from  the  brain  of  Jove,  they  spring  to  life  full-armed; 
and  soar  through  air  before  they  tread  the  earth;  and 
when,  through  using  spelling-books  and  mathematics, 
men  make  the  art-forms  fit  intelligence,  these  forms  have 
no  artistic  value  save  to  those  who  know  enough  to  search 
beneath  them  for  the  principle  that  formed  them,  a  prin- 
ciple manifested  in  results  that  cannot  be  perceptible  ex- 
cept to  larger  and  more  comprehensive  views  in  which  the 
parts  appear  related  to  the  wholes,  and  the  wholes  related 
to  the  parts.  So,  to  judge  of  these  Greek  buildings,  we 
must  see  them  from  a  distance  where  such  views  are  possi- 
ble. Indeed,  the  very  conception  that  the  Greek  had  of 
proportion  indicates  as  much.  How  could  he  study  what 
he  considered  the  inter  measurement  between  the  parts, 
except  from  a  point  where  all,  or  at  least  a  majority  of  all, 
the  parts  were  visible?  Again,  in  order  to  find  what  the 
Greek  considered  desirable  in  architectural  proportion, 
we  should  draw  our  conclusions  from  examining  as  many 
temples  as  we  can, — Idem,  xi. 

"genesis  of  art-form,  the.*'  analysis  of  the  book. 
Form,  as  related  to  art  in  general,  was  treated  in  the 
volume  entitled  **The  Genesis  of  Art-Form."  Taking  up 
the  thread  of  thought  where  dropped  in  the  previous 
volume,  this  opens  by  examining  the  very  beginnings  of  form 
when  representing  significance.  The  necessity  is  pointed 
out  of  having  inaudible  and  invisible  thoughts  or  emotions, 
when  they  are  to  be  imparted  to  another,  communicated  to 
him  through  some  audible  and  visible  meditmi.  Then 
it  is  pointed  out  that  the  particular  method  in  which  they 
may  be  thus  communicated  in  art  is  only  one  of  many  simi- 
lar ways  in  which  the  mind  is  obliged  to  use  material  sur- 
roundings. It  is  recalled  that  all  knowledge,  and  not  only 
this,  but  all  understanding  and  application  of  the  laws  of 
botany,  mineralogy,  psychology,  or  theology,  depend  upon 
the  degree  in  which  a  man  learns  to  separate  certain  plants, 
rocks,  mental  activities,  or  religious  dogmas  from  others, 
and  to  unite  and  classify  and  name  them;  and  that  it  is 
classification  which  enables  him  to  have  knowledge  and 
understanding  of  the  materials  which  nature  furnishes,  and 


144  ^N  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

to  make  an  efficient  use  of  them.  It  is  maintained  that, 
while  science  classifies  facts,  and  philosophy  theories, 
art  classifies  forms  or  appearances;  and  it  is  stated  also 
that  the  general  process  in  all  cases  is  the  same, — a  pro- 
cess which  involves  an  application  of  the  same  princi- 
ples of  association  and  comparison  which  are  mentioned 
on  page  426  as  being  at  the  basis  of  all  earliest  attempts  at 
expression.  This  process  in  its  elementary  stages  is  a  put- 
ting of  like  with  like.  If  the  factors  be  not  actually  alike 
in  form  the  process  involves  gathering  them  into  groups 
according  to  the  principle  of  mental  association;  or,  if 
they  be  alike  in  form,  of  doing  the  same  according  to  the 
principle  of  comparison.  The  essay  maintains,  in  short, 
that  it  is  the  endeavor  to  produce  unity  of  impression  out 
of  the  variety  and  complexity  everywhere  apparent  in  na- 
ture, as  one  is  influenced  sometimes  by  the  requirements 
of  the  mind,  sometimes  by  those  of  nature,  and  sometimes 
by  both,  that  leads  to  the  different  methods  adopted  in 
art-construction,  the  whole  of  which  methods,  arranged 
in  the  order  of  their  logical  development,  are  indicated  in 
a  chart.' — Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color ^ 
Recapitulation  in,  xxvi. 

GENIUS  {see  ARTISTIC  VS.  SCIENTIFIC,  INDIVIDUALITY  IN  ART, 

INSPIRED,  PERSONALITY  AND  UNIVERSALITY,  and 

SUBCONSCIOUS  MENTAL  ACTION). 

What  is  genius?  The  term  is  derived — through  the 
Latin  word  genus,  meaning  something  characterized  by  the 
source  of  its  begetting  or  production,  therefore  a  family, 
race,  or,  in  this  sense,  kind — from  the  word  genere,  meaning 
to  beget  or  produce.  The  word  genus  seems  to  combine, 
therefore,  the  ideas  both  of  kind  and  of  production.  It 
means  the  kind  that  is  produced.  The  termination  ius  means 
belonging  to.  Therefore,  genius  means  something  belonging 
to  the  kind  that  is  produced.  All  recognize  that  by  the 
genius  of  an  age  or  a  race,  as  when  we  say  "the  genius  of 
the  American  people,"  is  meant  the  kind  of  production  in 
thought,  word,  deed,  invention,  or  composition,  that  belongs 
to  the  age  or  race.  And  what  is  a  genius  but  primarily 
a  man  who  is  the  source  of  this  kind  of  production? — a 
man  whose  feelings,  aims,  opinions,  deeds,  or  words  are 
true  representatives  of  kinds  that  belong  to  his  age  or  race? 

*  See  page  89  of  this  volume. 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  145 

I 
Was  not  this  true  of  Homer,  Pheidias,  Raphael,  Milton, 
Mozart,  Goethe,  and  Beethoven?  Could  their  works  have 
appeared  except  when  and  where  they  were  produced? 
And  if  we  want  to  find  out  what  was  the  genius  of  the  age 
of  each,  do  we  not  examine  what  was  done  by  these  men  and 
by  others  who  were  typical  of  their  age  ?  And  is  not  this  one 
reason  why  we  term  these  men  geniuses?  But,  of  course, 
there  is  also  another  reason,  yet  it  is  connected  with  this. 
As  indicated  on  pages  223  to  227,  a  man  is  considered  to 
be  a  genius  in  the  degree  in  which  he  is  able  to  give  un- 
impeded outward  expression  to  results  coming  from  the 
hidden  sphere  of  mind.  But  this  sphere  is  occultly  con- 
nected with  the  whole  hidden  or  spiritual  sphere  of  nature. 
The  genius,  therefore,  is  a  man  whose  temperament  makes 
him  one  of  his  kind,  and  therefore  makes  his  products 
reflect  the  fact,  in  the  sense  of  inclining  him  to  be  influenced 
as  are  other  human  beings,  and  as  are  also  all  the  animate 
or  inanimate  developments  of  life  that  is  not  human.  The 
word  genius  is  sometimes  used  for  the  word  spirit.  Why 
is  this  except  because  genius  tends  like  spirit  to  make  the 
mind  work  in  harmony  with  what  may  be  termed  the  Mind 
in  nature,  and  hence,  according  to  the  principle  brought 
out  on  page  94,  with  the  Spirit,  or,  if  we  choose  to  be 
polytheistic,  the  spirits  in  nature,  of  which  Milton  sings 
when  he  says? — 

And  as  I  wake,  sweet  music  breathe 

Above,  about,  or  underneath, 

Sent  by  some  Spirit  to  mortals  good, 

Or  th'  unseen  Genius  of  the  wood. 

//  Penseroso. 

The  genius's  interpretations  of  nature  commend  them- 
selves, therefore,  both  because  nature  makes  the  same 
appeal  to  him  as  to  others  through  its  visible  forms,  and 
also  because  it  causes  a  unity  of  action  between  the  sub- 
conscious processes  of  his  mind  and  its  own  invisible  pro- 
cesses. This  unity  of  action  results  in  expression  which 
is  artistic  inasmuch  as  it  is  characteristic  of  the  individual 
artist,  and  yet  is  also  natural  inasmuch  as  it  is  characteristic 
of  what  is  experienced  by  men  in  general,  the  representa- 
tions of  art,  notwithstanding  the  intervention  of  human 
skill,  appearing  to  spring  up  and  flow  forth  to  influence  as 
instinctively  as  fountains  issue  into  streams  and  buds  burst 
into  blossoms.  As  a  result,  the  art  of  any  age  is  the  bloom- 
ing and  fruitage  of  the  influences  of  nature  and  humanity 


146  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER* S  CABINET 

that  have  been  at  work  on  every  side  throughout  long 
centuries. — The  Representative  Significance  of  Form,  xiv. 

The  same  conception  of  the  province  of  genius  is  involved 
also  in  the  use  that  we  make  of  another  word, — the  adjective 
genial,  meaning  that  which  is  kindly  stimulating  because 
coming  from  one  of  one's  kind  or  kin.  We  all  recognize 
this  meaning  as  applied  in  ordinary  language  to  the  pro- 
ductive influence  of  one  natural  object  upon  another, — 
that  of  the  April  sun,  for  instance,  on  the  meadow.  A 
similar  influence,  natural  and  life-stimulating,  on  the  part 
of  works  of  art  upon  the  human  mind,  is  similarly  termed. 
But  a  writer  or  composer  of  any  product  of  art  who  is  really 
genial  or  congenial  is,  so  far,  a  genius.  Thus  not  alone  these 
words,  but  the  ideas  expressed  in  them,  appear  related. — 
Idem,  XIV. 

GENIUS  AND  LEARNING  {see  IMAGINATION  and  INFORMATION). 

Let  it  not  be  thought,  then,  that  education,  experi- 
ence, and  learning  unfit  one  for  those  pursuits  which  are 
usually  supposed  to  necessitate  genius.  Milton  wrote 
little  poetry  until  he  had  ended  his  argumentative  and 
political  work.  Goethe  and  Schiller  both  profited  much 
from  the  discriminating  scientific  criticism  to  which,  as 
appears  in  their  correspondence,  they  were  accustomed 
to  submit  their  productions;  at  all  events,  they  achieved 
their  greatest  successes  subsequent  to  it.  And  with 
criticism  playing  all  about  his  horizon,  like  lightnings 
from  every  quarter  of  the  heavens,  who  can  calculate  how 
much  of  the  splendor  of  Shakespeare  is  attributable  to 
this  by-play  among  the  circle  of  dramatists  by  whom  he 
was  surrounded?  With  new  forms  rising  still  like  other 
Venuses  above  the  miasmas  of  the  old  Campagna,  who 
can  estimate  how  much  the  excellence  of  the  Italian  artists 
has  been  owing  to  the  opportunities  afforded  in  historic 
Rome  for  critical  study  ? — Essentials  of  Esthetics,  iv. 

GESTURE  {see  REPRESENTATIVE  EFFECTS  IN  GESTURES). 

GOTHIC  ARCHITECTURE  {see  ARCHITECTURE,  EXPRESSION  IN, 

ARCHITECTURE,  WHY,  and  REPRESENTATIVE 

EFFECTS  IN  NATURAL  OUTLINES). 

One  peculiarity  of  this  style  is  that  it  can  be  varied  almost 
infinitely.  A  number  of  buildings  can  be  constructed  either 
with  towers  or  without  them,  and  yet,  when  grouped  to- 
gether, produce  an  effect  of  unity.  .  .  .     Another  peculiarity 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  I47 

of  the  style  is  that  it  admits  of  equal  variety  in  expense.  The 
stone  is  generally  uncut,  but  any  amount  of  carving  is 
admissible  in  the  elaboration  of  details.  ...  As  a  result,  a 
dormitory,  costing  only  fifty  thousand  dollars,  may  stand  at 
the  side  of  a  chapel  costing  five  hundred  thousand,  and 
yet  both  buildings  contribute  equally  to  the  harmony  of 
the  whole  series  of  buildings. — Painting,  Sculpture,  and 
Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,  xix. 

GRADATION   IN   OUTLINE. 

As  we  look  at  the  successive  arches  of  a  bridge,  or  of  an 
aqueduct,  we  see  them  gradually  becoming  smaller  and 
smaller.  If  we  look  at  a  row  of  trees  that  is  sufficiently 
long,  we  see  it  pass  gradually  into  a  narrow  stretch  of 
green.  Two  parallel  outlines,  if  we  continue  to  trace 
them  when  carried  up  toward  the  zenith,  or  toward  the 
horizon,  appear  gradually  to  converge.  Sometimes,  if 
they  ascend  a  hill,  though  themselves  perfectly  straight, 
they  seem  gradually  to  pass  into  curves  A  similar  fact 
is  still  more  evident  in  the  outlines  of  forms  not  so  in- 
fluenced by  the  laws  of  perspective.  Think  of  the  innumer- 
able curves  and  angles  and  straight  lines  that  make  up  the 
contour  of  every  mountain,  tree,  bush,  fruit,  flower,  bird, 
beast,  and  man;  yet  often,  not  even  with  a  microscope,  can 
one  tell  just  where  one  form  of  line  ceases  and  another 
begins. — The  Genesis  of  Art-Form,  xvi. 

GRADATION  IN  SOUND  AND  COLOR   {see  HARMONY  OF). 

In  listening  to  a  bird  singing,  to  a  wind  whistling,  or  to  a 
surf  breaking,  we  usually  notice  a  gradual  increase  and 
decrease  in  the  blended  sounds.  It  is  the  same  when  observ- 
ing color.  Any  ordinary  lawn  reveals  an  almost  infinite 
number  of  shades  of  green,  and  the  most  of  these  coalesce, 
but  show  scarcely  a  trace  of  when  and  where  they  do  it.  A 
clear  sky  at  dawn  or  sunset  exhibits  between  the  horizon 
and  the  zenith  every  color  of  the  spectrum  from  red  to 
purple,  yet  few  boundary  lines  between  any  two  colors. 
Among  the  maple  trees  in  spring,  when  just  beginning  to 
show  their  leaves,  one  can  clearly  see  hues  as  different  as 
red,  yellow,  and  green,  yet  it  is  well-nigh  impossible  to  find 
in  any  given  cluster  just  where  one  color  stops  and  another 
starts.  It  is  the  same  with  a  majority  of  the  hues  of 
nature,  whether  seen  in  the  flowers  beneath  us  or  in  the 
clouds  above  us.     In  fact,  it  is  one  of  the  most  common 


148  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

laws  of  sight,  that  when  different  colors  or  different  shades 
of  the  same  color  come  together,  the  line  of  demarkation 
between  them  is  indistinct. — Idem,  xvi. 

In  music,  graduated  differences  of  effect  take  place  in 
time,  as  when  the  movement  passes  from  one  key  to  another. 
In  painting,  there  is  no  reason  why  they  shoiild  not  take 
place  in  space,  and,  if  they  do,  though  the  vibrations  in  one 
part  of  the  retina  may  not  coalesce  with  those  in  another 
part,  the  eye,  for  reasons  indicated  on  page  350,  may  be 
hardly  conscious  of  the  difference.  At  the  same  time, 
as  a  whole  scene  is  usually  visible  to  a  single  glance,  or  to 
many  glances  constantly  moving  from  one  to  another  part 
of  the  scene,  it  is  doubtful  whether,  in  case  the  changes 
are  from  one  decided  hue  to  another,  the  best  effects  of 
harmony  can  be  secured  by  gradation  without  the  aid  of 
such  arrangements  of  color  as  have  been  described  under 
the  heads  of  balance,  symmetry,  and  interchange. — Proportion 
and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color,  xxiv. 

GREEN    COLOR    IN    PAINTING. 

Between  violet,  purple,  and  red  there  are  differences  in 
degree  by  no  means  matched  by  the  differences  between 
their  complement aries,  yellowish-green  and  bluish-green. 
This  fact  makes  the  difficulty  of  using  green  with  its  proper 
contrasts  very  great ;  and  this  difficulty  becomes  still  greater 
in  view  of  the  position  of  green  on  the  dividing  line  between 
the  warm  and  cold  colors,  concerning  the  entirely  different 
uses  of  which  in  sunshine  and  shadow  mention  was  made 
on  page  320.  We  see  one  reason,  therefore,  why  a  decisive 
test  of  a  good  landscape  painter  is  the  way  in  which  he 
manages  his  greens,  as  well  too,  perhaps,  as  why  decorators 
in  all  times  have  made  but  alimited  use  of  them. — Idem,  xix. 

HARMONY  {study  also  BEAUTY,  COMPARISON,  and  vibratory). 

We  must  begin  by  ascertaining  exactly  what  harmony  is, 
and  this  not  in  its  general  but  in  its  technical  sense.  An 
answer  to  the  question  can  be  found  in  no  better  way  than 
by  recalling  the  discoveries  of  the  scientists  as  a  result  of 
analyzing  harmony  as  it  appears  in  music,  the  art  to  the 
effects  of  which  the  term  was  first  applied  technically. 
In  this  art,  through  the  use,  among  other  methods,  of 
resonators,  so  constructed  as  to  enable  one  to  detect  the 
presence  in  a  tone  of  any  particular  pitch,  it  has  been 
found  that  notes  which  are  harmonious  are  such  as  con- 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  149 

tain  the  same  elements  of  pitch,  or — what  is  the  same 
thing — are  notes  in  which  effects  of  like  pitch  are  repeated. 
For  instance,  when  a  string  Hke  that  of  a  bass  viol  is  struck, 
its  note,  if  musical,  is  not  single  or  simple :  it  is  compound. 
Suppose  that  it  produces  the  tone  of  the  bass  C — represent- 
ing a  sound-wave  caused  by  the  whole  length  of  the  string. 
This  C  is  the  main,  or,  as  it  is  termed,  the  prime  tone  that 
we  hear.  But,  at  the  same  time,  this  same  string  usually 
divides  at  the  middle,  producing  what  is  called  a  partial 
tone  of  the  C  above  the  base,  representing  a  sound-wave 
caused  by  one  half  the  string's  length.  It  often  produces,  too, 
partial  tones  of  the  G  above  this,  of  the  C  above  this,  and  of 
the  E  above  the  last  C  (etc.).  .  .  .  This  C,  G,  C,  and  E  of 
the  major  chord  are  in  harmony  with  the  lower  bass  C, 
because  they  are  made  up  of  effects  that  already  enter 
into  its  composition.  The  chord  as  a  whole,  therefore,  or 
any  analogous  development  of  it,  is  a  result  of  putting  like 
effects  with  like. — Art  in  Theory,  xii. 

Glancing  at  the  above,  suppose  that  we  were  to  sound 
the  note  C,  and  then  to  sound,  either  after  or  with  it, — ■ 
for  the  laws  of  harmony  have  to  do  with  the  methods  of 
using  notes  both  consecutively  and  conjointly, — notes 
whose  partial  tones  connect  them  most  closely  with  C, 
— what  notes  should  we  sound?  We  should  sound  F, — 
should  we  not? — of  which  C  is  the  third  partial,  and  G, 
which  itself  is  the  third  partial  of  C.  This  would  give  us 
C — F — G — C.  But  these  are  the  very  tones  accredited  to 
the  **lyre  of  Orpheus,"  which  represented  the  earliest  of 
the  Greek  scales. 

Let  us  add  to  these  notes  those  whose  partial  tones  are 
the  next  nearly  connected  with  C,  F,  or  G.  They  are 
D  the  third  partial  of  G,  E  the  fifth  partial  of  C,  A  the 
fifth  of  F,  and  B  the  fifth  of  G.  This  gives  us  C— D— E— 
F — G — A — B — C,  which  is  our  own  major  scale,  the  main 
one  that  we  use  to-day;  and  is  similar  to  one  used  by 
the  Greeks  after  theirs  had  been  expanded  to  seven 
notes. — Essentials  of  /Esthetics,  xvii. 

Why  is  it  necessary  that  tones  should  chord  ?  Why  does 
the  mind  or  the  ear  demand  concordance  in  the  sounds 
used  in  music  ? — In  answer  to  this  we  might  begin  by  infer- 
ring a  psychological  reason.  Sounds  result  from  vibrations 
that  cause  oscillations  in  the  air,  and  through  it  in  the  liquid 


150  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

within  the  inner  labyrinth  of  the  ear.  There  is  a  sense  in 
which  it  may  be  said  that  the  mind  is  conscious  of  these 
vibrations,  for  when  it  hears  a  certain  number  of  them,  per 
second,  it  invariably  hears  a  sound  of  a  certain  pitch.  Now 
if  the  vibrations  causing  two  notes  start  together  every 
second,  third,  fourth,  fifth,  or  sixth  time  that  they  are  made, 
as  they  do  in  the  notes  composing  the  musical  concords,  it  is 
easy  for  the  mind — on  the  supposition,  of  course,  that  in 
some  subtle  way  it  takes  cognizance  of  vibrations — to  per- 
ceive a  unity  in  the  result,  because  it  can  analyze  the 
vibrations  and  perceive  that  they  all  form  exact  sub- 
divisions of  certain  definite  wholes.  But  if  the  vibrations 
causing  the  tones  start  together  at  only  long  and  irregular 
intervals,  then  any  analysis  or  classification  of  the  different 
constituent  effects  is  impossible.  Of  course  such  a  result 
cannot  be  else  than  confusing  and  unsatisfactory. 

This  explanation,  which  is  the  one  given  by  Euler,  has 
much  to  recommend  it.  We  know  how  it  is  in  the  case  of 
musical  rhythm.  Certain  measures,  to  all  of  which  an 
equal  time  is  given,  are  filled  with  notes  and  rests  that 
represent  exact  subdivisions  of  this  time — the  whole  of  it  or 
a  half,  a  quarter,  an  eighth,  or  more,  as  the  case  may  be. 
When  the  musician  composes  or  sings  in  rhythm,  he  beats 
time,  mentally  if  not  physically,  and  puts  into  each  measure 
just  the  number  of  notes  that  will  fill  it.  Why  are  we  not 
justified  in  surmising  that  the  principle  which  the  mind 
applies  consciously  when  it  counts  the  beats  that  determine 
the  relations  of  a  note  to  rhythm,  it  applies  uncon- 
sciously when  it  counts  the  beats  or  vibrations  that  deter- 
mine the  relations  of  tone  to  pitch.?  The  fundamental 
bass  note  of  the  chord  represents  a  certain  number  of 
vibrations  per  second.  These  constitute,  so  to  speak,  the 
chord-measure,  and  only  those  notes  can  be  used  in  the 
chord  which  represent  the  partial  tones  produced  by  exact 
subdivisions  of  this  measure.  In  fact,  there  is  ground 
enough  for  holding  the  theory  that  music  is  no  more  than 
an  artistic  adaptation  of  the  laws  of  rhythm,  of  a  part  of 
which,  as  related  to  duration,  the  mind  is  conscious;  but 
of  another  part  of  which,  as  related  to  pitch — i.  e.,  to  the 
rhythm  resulting  from  tone-vibrations, — it  is  unconscious. 

But  it  has  not  yet  been  shown  here  that  the  mind  actually 
does  count  or  compare  vibrations.  It  may  do  this,  but 
is  there  any  proof  of  it?     We  may  best  begin  an  answer  to 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  151 

this  question  by  going  back  of  the  action  of  the  mind  to 
that  of  the  ear  that  occasions  it,  and  ask,  is  there  any  proof 
of  a  physical  requirement  in  the  ear  underlying  an 
operation  analogous  to  comparison  as  made  in  the  realm  of 
consciousness  ? 

There  is  proof  of  such  a  requirement.  If  we  sound  at 
the  same  time  two  very  low  notes  of  an  organ  separated 
from  each  other  on  the  scale  by  only  half  a  tone, — C  and 
C#  for  instance, — we  shall  hear,  not  a  consecutive  tone, 
but  a  succession  of  throbs  or  beats.  Knowing  that  all 
sounds  are  caused  by  vibrations,  and  that  a  difference  in 
pitch  is  caused  by  a  difference  in  the  time  of  vibrations,  it 
is  easy  to  understand  how  these  beats  are  produced.  Sup- 
pose that  one  of  the  notes  is  a  result  of  fifty  vibrations  in  a 
second,  and  the  other  of  fifty-one.  At  the  end  of  the 
twenty-fifth  vibration  in  the  first  of  the  tones,  there  will 
have  been,  in  the  second,  twenty-five  and  one  half  vibrations. 
But  as  each  vibration  necessitates  a  movement  in  one 
direction  half  the  time,  and  in  a  contrary  direction 
the  other  half  the  time,  the  vibrations  in  the  first  tone  will 
move  from  the  twenty-fifth  to  the  fiftieth  in  an  opposite 
direction  from  those  in  the  second  tone.  For  this  reason 
the  vibrations  causing  the  two  tones  will  tend  to  suppress 
and  to  still  one  another,  just  as  is  the  case  where  two  waves 
of  nearly  equal  size  but  contrary  motions  come  together 
at  the  mouth  of  a  river.  However,  at  the  fiftieth  vibration 
in  the  first  tone,  and  at  the  fifty-first  in  the  second,  the 
vibrations  in  the  two  will  again  move  in  the  same  direction, 
and  tend  to  reinforce  one  another.  A  difference  between 
two  notes,  therefore,  corresponding  to  one  vibration  in  a 
second,  will  cause  one  suppressed  period  and  one  reinforced 
period  of  sound, — or  one  beat  in  a  second;  a  difference  of  two 
vibrations,  two  beats  in  a  second,  and  so  on.  In  a  difference 
of  this  kind  between  low  notes  caused  by  a  limited  number  of 
vibrations  in  a  second,  these  beats  are  perceptible,  as  has 
been  said,  and  are  easily  counted;  but  this  is  not  the  case 
when  produced  by  high  notes.  Then  one  of  two  results 
follows.  The  beats  either  become  so  numerous  as  to 
form  vibrations  causing  an  entirely  new  tone,  or  else  they 
continue  to  exist  as  beats  which  the  ear  cannot  distinguish, 
but  feels  to  be  disagreeable. 

Why  does  the  ear  find  these  beats  disagreeable?  For 
this  reason.     They  are  interruptions  in  the  continuity  or 


152  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

regularity  of  the  vibrations.  On  page  194  attention  was 
directed  to  the  fact  that  a  musical  sound,  and  therefore 
all  the  pleasure  derivable  from  it  as  such,  is  due  to  the 
rapid  periodic,  or — what  means  the  same — the  regularly 
recurring  motion  of  the  sonorous  body;  and  a  noise  to  its 
non-periodic,  or  irregularly  recurring  motion. 

When  beats  occur  that  interfere  with  harmony,  there- 
fore, there  is  noise  instead  of  music.  But  noise  in  music 
not  only  violates  the  artistic  principle  which  requires  that 
like  amid  varied  effects  be  put  with  like,  but  it  communi- 
cates to  the  auditory  nerves  a  series  of  shocks,  conveying 
an  intermittent,  irregular,  disordered  excitation;  whereas 
it  is  natural  to  suppose  that,  in  all  agreeable  excitations  of 
the  nerves,  the  thrill  and  glow  that  are  pleasurable  are 
characterized  by  the  elasticity  and  freedom  accompanying 
non-interference.  We  may  infer  this  from  the  fact  that  in 
nature  all  movements  are  regular  and  rhythmical.  The 
leaves  and  limbs  of  a  twig,  for  instance,  vibrate,  when 
struck  by  a  blow,  as  regularly  as  does  a  pendulum.  The 
same  must  be  true  of  the  oscillations  in  .  .  .  the  audi- 
torium of  the  ear.  At  any  rate,  we  know  that  only  regu- 
larly recurring  vibrations  can  produce  the  sensations  in 
the  auditory  nerves  which  render  music  enjoyable.  .  .  . 

In  conclusion,  we  may  blend  the  physiological  and  psy- 
chological reasons  for  the  effects  of  music,  thus:  The 
ear  has  become  habituated  through  long  experience  to 
search  for  unity  of  effect  in  sounds.  When  it  hears  musical 
chords,  it  recognizes,  after  a  few  vibrations,  that  all  the 
sounds  are  exact  subdivisions  of  some  one  note, — in  other 
words,  that  what  is  heard  results  from  a  succession  of  like 
amid  varied  effects.  At  other  times,  when  the  mind  cannot 
recognize  that  this  is  the  case,  it  is  natural  to  suppose  that 
there  is  an  endeavor  to  recognize  the  fact,  and,  owing  to 
this  endeavor,  that  there  is  a  positive  effort  on  the  part  of 
the  organs  of  sensation  in  the  ear  to  adjust  themselves  to 
the  new  conditions  and  to  discover  elements  of  unity  and 
likeness  that  do  not  exist.  That  the  ear  is  sometimes  suc- 
cessful in  doing  this,  is  proved  by  its  acceptance  of  the 
slight  variations  from  true  harmony  that  are  found  in  the 
temperate  scale.  In  decided  discords,  however,  nothing 
can  make  the  sounds  seem  to  compare,  and  the  nerves  and 
muscles  are  wearied  by  the  effort  of  trying  to  do  it,  just  as 
they  would  be,  were  they  listening  intently  for  sounds  or 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  TS3 

footsteps  which  they  failed  to  hear.  Of  course,  the  nerves 
of  hearing,  strained,  and  on  the  alert,  but  without  success, 
give  the  ear  pain,  not  pleasure.  Pleasure  in  connection 
with  sound,  aesthetic  satisfaction  in  connection  with  tone, 
is  experienced  by  mind  or  ear  in  the  degree  only  in  which 
the  result  is  perceived  to  be  a  unity  obtained  from  the  ap- 
parent variety  of  unlike  complex  wholes  hy  putting  together 
those  that  have  like  partial  effects. — Rhythm  and  Harmony  in 
Poetry  and  Music,  xvi. 

The  reader  will  not  fail  to  notice  that  the  effects  of  har- 
mony as  thus  described  are,  in  important  regards,  analogous 
to  those  of  rhythm,  and  yet  of  a  rhythm  so  finely  grained 
that  it  is  impossible  that  the  mind  should  be  conscious 
of  its  constituent  elements.  ...  It  is  sometimes  said 
that,  as  the  mind  consciously  counts  the  beats  in  determin- 
ing rhythm,  so,  in  some  subtle  v>ray,  it  unconsciously  counts 
the  vibrations  in  determining  harmony.  But  is  it  neces- 
sary to  suppose  this  ?  When  influenced  by  tones  that  seem 
consonant  we  are  certainly  not  conscious  of  counting.  Are 
we  conscious  of  doing  it  even  when  influenced  by  the  effects 
of  rhythm  ?  Are  we  conscious  of  anything  except  of  certain 
accentuations  of  tone  that  are  equally  subdivided  into 
other  accentuations — all  of  which,  in  some  way,  are  so 
related  that  they  exactly  fit,  the  smaller  into  the  larger 
and  all  into  the  largest?  And  if  we  need  not  count  the 
accents  in  rhythm,  why  should  we  do  it  in  harmony? 
Why  need  we  do  more  than  experience  certain  throbs  or 
thrills  of  sound  equally  subdivided  into  other  thrills,  all  of 
which  are  so  related  that  they  exactly  fit,  the  smaller  into 
the  larger  and  all  into  the  largest  ?  As  a  result  of  experi- 
encing these,  every  part  of  the  auditory  organism,  under 
any  influence  of  sound,  is  under  the  same  influence,— as  much 
so  as  is  every  part  of  a  still  pool  when  we  have  thrown 
a  single  stone  into  it,  infinitely  varied  as  may  be  the  sizes 
of  different  waves  that  in  remote  places  circle  into  ripples. 
The  result,  inasmuch  as  all  the  sound-waves  represent  a 
single  impulse,  is  an  unimpeded,  free,  regularly  recurrent 
vibratory  glow  of  the  whole  auditory  apparatus.  But  if, 
on  the  contrary,  the  effect  resemble  that  upon  the  waters 
of  a  pool  when  more  than  one  stone  is  thrown  into  it,  i.  e., 
if  the  sound-waves  do  not  coalesce,  if  the  smaller  do  not 
fit  into  the  larger,  and  all  together  into  the  largest,  then 


154  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

nothing  ensues  but  a  broken,  impeded,  constrained,  irregu- 
lar series  of  jolts  or  jars.  The  difference  in  the  ear  between 
the  sensation  of  harmony  and  of  a  lack  of  it,  is  the  physical 
difference  between  thrilling  or  glowing  and  jolting  or  jar- 
ring. Notice,  too,  that  this  illustration  applies  to  notes  when 
sounding  not  only,  as  in  one  chord,  simultaneously,  but,  as 
in  different  chords,  successively.  Two  things  related  to 
the  same  thing  cannot  fail,  in  some  way,  to  be  related  to 
each  other;  and  two  chords,  each  containing  sets  of  vibra- 
tions for  which  there  is  a  common  multiple,  and  both 
containing  one  set  of  vibrations  (i,  e.,  one  tone)  which  is 
the  same,  must  both  be  entirely  composed  of  vibrations 
for  which  there  is  some  common  multiple.  This  common 
multiple,  moreover,  for  the  vibrations  of  a  first  and  second 
chord  may  be  different  from  that  of  the  vibrations  of  the 
second  and  third  chord.  It  is  possible,  therefore,  for  a 
series  of  chords,  each  in  part  repeating  the  same  tones  as 
the  last  sounded,  and  in  part  introducing  new  tones,  to 
change,  very  soon,  the  whole  character  of  the  general 
vibratory  effect;  and  yet  if  this  be  done  with  sufficient 
gradualness,  the  auditory  apparatus  will  experience  no 
jolt  or  jar,  while,  at  the  same  time,  it  will  be  conscious  of 
a  constant  progress  and  so  of  relief  from  anything  resembling 
monotony. — Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color ,  xx. 

Of  course,  the  early  musicians  could  not  have  explained 
exactly  why  they  selected  certain  notes  and  put  them  into 
a  musical  scale,  and  from  these  began  to  develop  that  which 
has  now  come  to  be  our  elaborated  system  of  melody  and 
harmony.  Those  artists  followed  merely  the  instincts  of 
their  aesthetic  nature.  This  prompted  them,  in  construct- 
ing forms,  to  select  sounds  that  would  naturally  go  together; 
and  to  use  these  and  these  only.  But  what  connection  is 
there,  it  may  be  asked,  between  sounds  that  naturally  go 
together,  and  those  that  go  together  because  certain  of 
their  effects  are  alike?  None,  perhaps,  so  far  as  the  first 
musicians  were  aware.  They  judged  merely  by  the  results 
that  they  heard,  and  had  only  a  limited  knowledge  of  the 
causes  of  these.  Nevertheless,  as  w411  be  shown  presently 
from  an  examination  of  the  discoveries  of  modern  science, 
their  ears  guided  them  aright.  All  the  notes  of  the  scale 
and  all  the  methods  of  musical  harmony  owe  their  origin 
to  a  literal  fulfilment  of  the  art-principle  declared  in  "The 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  155 

Genesis  of  Art-Form"  to  be  of  universal  applicability. 
This  principle  is  that,  in  order  to  receive  an  impression  of 
unity,  the  mind  groups  complex  wholes  by  putting  those 
together  that  produce  like  partial  effects. — Rhythm  arid  Har- 
mony in  Poetry  and  Music ,  xii. 

Harmony,  like  rhythm  and  proportion,  often  involves 
very  intricate  arrangements  and  developments,  but  through 
them  all  can  be  detected  the  presence  of  this  one  underlying 
principle.  The  following,  for  instance,  represents  a  com- 
mon way  of  accomplishing  the  result  which  is  termed 
"making  the  circuit"  of  all  the  major  keys.  Those  un- 
acquainted with  music  will  understand  sufficiently  what  is 
meant  when  it  is  said  that  the  chords  of  one  key  are  often 
discordant  with  those  of  another  key  unless,  in  some  such 
way  as  is  indicated  in  this  music,  an  artificial  connec- 
tion has  been  made  between  the  two. — The  Essentials  of 
MstheticSy  xvii. 

The  main  result  ...  is  secured  through  using  such 
methods  as  those  of  interchange,  gradation,  and  transition, 
which,  nevertheless,  cause  all  the  divergent  parts  of  a 
composition  to  assimilate.  Because,  too,  all  the  methods 
in  the  chart  (see  page  89  of  this  volume)  are,  more  or  less, 
connected,  music,  at  times,  reveals  traces  of  the  influence 
of  every  one  of  these. — Idem. 

HARMONY  OF  COLOR  {see  dlso  different  paragraphs  under 

BEAUTY,  COMPARISON,  and  VIBRATORY). 

Like  tone-harmony,  this  was  developed,  at  first,  by 
artists  of  exceptional  taste,  knowing  little  and  caring  less 
about  the  scientific  reasons  underlying  their  choice  of 
combinations.  But,  after  art  has  developed  to  a  certain 
extent,  scientists  always  make  a  study  of  its  efl;ects.  That 
which  they  discover  increases  not  only  the  knowledge  and 
the  appreciation  of  art  on  the  part  of  the  general  public, 
but  also  adds  not  a  little  to  the  resources  of  the  artist  and 
to  his  ability  to  make  further  progress. 

Nor  must  it  be  supposed  that  color-harmony,  so  far 
as  it  has  been  developed  from  the  contributions  of  science, 
has  been  based  upon  the  relations  between  vibrations  in 
the  eye  in  the  same  way  in  which  tone-harmony  has  been 
based  upon  the  relations  between  vibrations  in  the  ear. 
The  numbers  of  the  latter  vibrations  can  be  and  have  been 
definitely  determined.     The  numbers  of  vibrations  causing 


156  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

the  colors  have  not  been  determined  except  approximately. 
For  this  reason,  and  very  wisely,  the  principles  of  color- 
harmony  have  been  developed  from  facts  which,  though 
related  to  those  of  vibration,  have,  unlike  them,'  been 
definitely  ascertained.  The  different  stages  of  development 
have  been  somewhat  as  follows : 

The  discoveries  with  reference  to  the  complementary 
colors,'  as  described  on  page  370,  led  to  the  natural  sup- 
position that  the  eye  takes  pleasure  in  seeing  these  two 
together;  and  as,  in  all  cases,  the  two  were  found  to  make 
white,  it  led  to  the  supposition  that  any  two  or  more  colors 
making  white  would  cause  harmony.  Not  long  after,  too, 
it  led  to  the  supposition  that  these  colors  must  be  intro- 
duced into  a  painting  in  just  such  proportions  as  to  make 
white.  ...  A  law  of  this  kind,  however,  though  it 
might  be  applied  to  decoration,  would  evidently  interfere 
with  one  of  the  first  requisites  of  the  art  of  painting,  namely, 
that  it  should  represent  nature.  In  how  many  landscapes 
can  we  find  the  blue  of  the  sky,  or  the  green  of  the  foliage, 
or  the  bluish  gray  of  a  lowery  day,  exactly  mingled  in  such 
proportions  with  the  warmer  and  lighter  yellows,  reds,  or 
browns  ? 

On  the  face  of  it,  therefore,  this  theory  did  not  seem 
tenable.  Modern  artists  universally  reject  it.  They  tell 
us  that  the  slightest  spot  of  crimson  against  the  green  of  a 
forest,  or  of  yellow  against  the  blue  of  the  sky,  is  all  that  is 
needed  in  order  to  bring  out  the  brilliancy  of  the  com- 
plementary coloring.  .  .  .  But  when  it  is  added  that 
these  effects  are  owing  to  merely  a  suggestion  given  to  the 
mind,  one  must  demur.  Those  who  say  it  have  forgotten 
a  very  important  principle  in  aesthetics.  That  is,  that 
psychological  effects  (see  Chapter  11.)  must  harmonize  with 
physiological,  and,  as  the  latter  come  first  in  the  order  of 
time,  it  is  not  logical  either  to  overlook  them  or  to  fail  to 
consider  them  first. 

The  influence  in  a  painting  of  very  slight  quantities  of 
complementary  coloring  seems  to  suggest  the  importance 
of  the  method  of  interpretation  indicated  on  pages  375  to 
378.  If  we  may  suppose  that  a  color  associated  with  its 
complementary  produces  in  the  eye  an  agreeable  effect 

^  The  complementary  colors  are  usually  said  to  be  red  and  bluish- 
green,  orange  and  turquoise -blue,  yellow  and  ultramarine-blue,  yellow- 
ish-green and  violet,  and  green  and  purple. 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  157 

because,  for  the  vibrations  causing  both  colors,  there  is  a 
common  multiple,  then  we  may  also  suppose  that  these 
colors  influence,  at  the  same  time,  the  organs  of  the  same 
retina  without  producing  any  sensation  of  jolting  or  jarring. 
All  the  vibrations  are  variations  of  the  same  unity  in  that 
they  are  partial  effects  of  the  same  single  impulse  or  set  of 
impulses,  resulting  in  a  free,  unrestrained  vibratory  thrill 
or  glow.  The  quantity  of  color,  therefore,  makes  no  differ- 
ence with  the  harmony  of  the  effect.  All  that  is  necessary 
is  that  the  form  of  vibration  causing  the  one  color,  be  it 
much  or  little,  should  exactly  coalesce  with  the  form  of 
vibration  causing  the  other  color.  It  could  coalesce  in 
this  way,  of  course,  in  several  different  circumstances. 
First  of  all,  it  could  do  so  when  there  was  one  predominating 
color.  .  .  .  Thus,  in  a  scene  representing  moonlight  or 
twilight,  or  even  a  storm,  especially  if  at  sea,  there  would 
necessarily  be  one  pervading  color,  in  some  cases  banishing 
almost  the  suggestion  of  other  colors.  .  .  .  Such  paintings 
are  said  to  be  characterized  by  tone,  and,  as  this  quality  is 
usually  understood,  it  is  difficult  to  perceive  why  it  does  not 
fulfil  a  different  law  of  harmony  from  that  which  is  fulfilled 
through  a  use  of  great  variety  in  coloring.  Indeed,  it  is 
often  represented  that  it  does;  as  if  the  theory  that  har- 
mony of  coloring  is  produced  by  uniformity  of  coloring 
were  antagonistic  to  the  theory  that  it  is  produced  by 
variety.  .  .  .  But  why  cannot  an  identical  law  be  per- 
ceived to  be  operative  in  both  cases?  Differences  in  tints 
and  shades  of  the  same  hue,  while  they  involve  differences 
in  the  intensity  of  the  sight-waves,  do  not  necessarily 
involve  differences  in  their  rates  or  shapes.  Therefore 
uniformity  of  coloring  is  fitted  to  cause  all  the  vibrations 
of  the  same  retina  to  coalesce,  i.  e.,  to  cause  all  to  be  exact 
subdivisions  of  some  common  multiple.  But  the  same 
effect  is  produced  by  the  use  of  one  predominating  color 
with  its  various  tints  and  shades,  enlivened  .  .  .  by  an 
occasional  introduction  of  some  tint  or  shade  of  its  comple- 
mentary color;  and  it  is  produced  also  when  both  com- 
plementary colors  are  used  in  almost  equal  proportions. 
In  fact,  color-harmony  may  result  from  the  use  of  any  col- 
ors whatsoever,  if  only  they  can  be  made  in  some  way  to 
produce  in  the  organs  of  color-apprehension  an  effect  of 
unity.  This  effect  follows  whenever  all  the  vibrations  of  the 
retina  that  are  near  together  are  multiples  of  some  common 


158  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

unit,  as  is  the  case  when  adjoining  tints  and  shades  in  a 
painting  are  of  the  same  hue,  or  of  hues  that  form  comple- 
mentaries,  or  for  some  reason  alHed  to  this,  as  indicated  on 
pages  370  to  374,  are  fitted  to  go  together.  If,  in  connection 
with  these  hues,  others  must  be  used  requiring  what  may- 
be termed  conflicting  forms  of  vibration,  these  others  must, 
in  the  painting,  be  remote  from  the  first,  and  be  connected 
with  them  in  accordance  with  methods  of  securing  partial 
consonance  Hke  those  of  interchange,  gradation,  and  transi- 
tion. .  .  .  Why  this  should  be  the  case,  may  be  sur- 
mised by  recalHng  that  a  single  vibration  is  to  the  whole 
retina  about  what  a  single  wave  is  to  an  ocean.  On  an  ocean, 
divergent  forms  of  waves  would  not  be  recognized  to  be  con- 
flicting were  they  widely  separated,  or  were  they  changed 
from  one  form  into  another  with  great  graduality;  and  were 
thus  made — to  apply  the  term  of  physiological  psychology 
— to  assimilate.  .  .  .  Color-harmony,  to  be  successful, 
must  be  a  result  of  an  application  of  the  same  endeavor 
after  unity  of  effect  which,  starting  with  the  principle  of 
putting  like  with  like  wherever  possible,  leads  to  a  careful 
study  and  embodiment  of  all  such  requirements  as  those  of 
variety,  complement,  principality,  subordination,  balance, 
parallelism,  repetition,  alternation,  symmetry,  massing, 
interchange,  continuity,  consonance,  gradation,  transition, 
and  progress.'  This  fact  is  developed  in  the  author's 
"Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color  in  Painting, 
Sculpture,  and  Architecture." — The  Essentials  of  Esthetics, 

XVIII. 

The  third  method  of  arriving  at  the  principles  underlying 
the  joining  of  colors  is  advocated  by  those  who  hold  that  as 
in  music  the  ratios  between  the  numbers  of  vibrations  per 
second  producing  the  different  notes  determine  which  should 
go  together,  so,  in  painting,  the  ratios  between  the  numbers 
of  vibrations  per  second  producing  the  different  colors 
should  determine  this.  As  a  rule,  physicists  have  had  little 
respect  for  any  advocate  of  this  theory,  because  he  has 
usually  started  out  with  the  hypothesis  that  there  is  some 
absolute  and  necessary  connection  between  the  seven  colors 
of  the  spectrum  and  the  seven  notes  of  the  musical  scale. 
As  was  shown,  however,  in  Chapter  XIV.  of  **  Rhythm  and 
Harmony  in  Poetry  and  Music, "  these  seven  notes  happen 

*  See  the  Chart  in  "  An  Art-Philospher's  Cabinet,"  on  page  89. 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  159 

to  be  used  merely  as  a  matter  of  convenience.  There  have 
been  scales  extensively  used  of  four  and  six  notes,  and 
possibly  our  own  might  be  improved  by  the  addition  of  two 
more.  As  it  is,  it  contains  not  seven  but  twelve  distinct 
intervals.  There  is  a  principle,  however,  underlying  the 
formation  of  all  musical  scales,  as  well  as  of  all  melody 
and  harmony,  which  depends  upon  the  relative  numbers 
of  vibrations.  One  cannot  refrain  from  feeling,  there- 
fore, that  it  is  logical  to  suppose  that  this  same  prin- 
ciple should  be  exemplified  in  that  which  causes  colors 
to  harmonize. 

It  does  not  allay  this  feeling,  to  remind  one  that  between, 
say,  the  400  trillions  of  vibrations  causing  extreme  red  and 
the  750  causing  extreme  violet,  the  differences  in  vibration 
are  not  sufficient  for  those  of  a  single  octave.  ...  As 
it  is,  we  have  in  the  colors  all  the  range  of  intervals  corre- 
sponding to  those  of  one  octave  if  containing  no  note  be- 
longing to  another.  Moreover,  the  possibility  of  producing 
variations  in  a  single  color  is  much  greater  than  that  of  doing 
the  same  in  a  single  sound.  Indeed,  when  we  consider  the 
innumerable  shades  and  tints  not  merely  of  one  color  but  of 
all  other  colors  in  connection  with  which  this  one  may  pro- 
duce mixed  effects,  we  are  forced  to  recognize  that  the  range 
both  of  single  colors  and  of  those  that  are  exactly  com- 
plementary to  these  is  practically  infinite,  and  thus  far 
more  than  sufficient  to  make  up  for  the  absence  in  the  color- 
scale  of  more  than  one  octave. 

So  much  for  the  theory;  now  for  the  facts  confirming  it. 
Let  us  take  the  ratios  of  the  numbers  of  vibrations  pro- 
ducing the  sounds,  not  of  all  the  scale,  but  of  those  that 
harmonize,  and  apply  these  ratios  to  the  numbers  of  vibra- 
tions producing  the  different  colors,  and  notice  what  colors 
they  cause  to  go  together.  As  the  numbers  of  vibrations 
producing  the  colors  are  exceedingly  great,  and  the  difficulty 
in  the  spectrum  of  determining  just  where  one  color  leaves 
off  and  another  begins  is  also  great,  we  must  content  our- 
selves with  approximate  measurements,  but  even  with  these 
we  can  attain  our  object. — Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line 
and  Color,  xxiii. 

HARMONY    OF    COLOR    AS    PRODUCED    BY    VIBRATIONS. 

Sound-waves  are  comparatively  large.  .  .  .  Color-waves 
are  exceedingly  small.  .   .   .     According  to  Le  Conte  in  his 


I60  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

*'  Sight, "  there  are  in  the  center  of  the  retina,  in  a  space  not 
larger  than  one  tenth  of  an  inch  square,  no  less  than  a  million 
cones  that  a  wave  can  influence.  ...  As  is  known,  too, 
all  these  are  so  connected  with  their  surroundings,  as  Foster 
says,  by  a  **  basket-work"  or  * 'sponge- work, "  that  they  are 
apparently  capable  of  vibratory  motion.  If  their  minute 
vibrations,  as  affected  by  movements  in  the  ether,  may  be 
supposed  to  influence  the  whole  retina  in  any  degree,  how 
can  they  do  so  except  as  one  set  of  waves  may  be  supposed 
to  influence  the  whole  surface  of  a  sea?  On  the  same  sea 
there  may  be  breezes  causing  waves  differing,  as  these 
vibrations  do,  in  intensity,  in  rate,  and  in  shape.  But, 
in  case  these  differences  were  far  apart,  and  produced  by 
very  gradual  changes  from  one  form  to  another,  there  might 
be,  to  an  eye  capable  of  perceiving  the  whole  surface  at 
once,  no  appearance  whatever  of  inharmonious  action.  It 
needs  to  be  added,  however,  that,  within  the  narrow  limits 
of  a  picture,  it  is  impossible  for  any  colors  to  be  very  widely 
separated,  and,  not  only  so,  but  that,  even  if  they  could  be, 
the  eye,  in  shifting  attention  from  one  point  to  another 
while  examining  them,  would  constantly  be  bringing  them 
into  still  closer  proximity,  in  fact  necessitating  often  the 
perception  of  all  the  colors  on  the  canvas  by  exactly  the 
same  part  of  the  retina. 

These  latter  conditions,  taken  in  connection  with  those 
mentioned  on  page  349,  will  show  us  that,  in  considering  the 
harmony  of  color,  there  are  two  main  questions  to  be  dis- 
cussed: first,  the  selection  and  arrangement  of  colors  with 
reference  to  their  general  effects  in  a  painting  considered  as 
a  whole,  corresponding  to  the  selection  in  music  of  a  key- 
note, involving  that  of  the  particular  scale  and  chords  that 
go  with  it;  and,  second,  the  selection  and  arrangement  of 
colors  with  reference  to  their  special  effects  when  placed 
side  by  side,  together  with  the  ways  of  sufficiently  separat- 
ing and  yet  connecting  them  in  cases  in  which  placing  them 
side  by  side  would  produce  discord.  This  phase  of  har- 
mony corresponds  to  what  in  music  is  termed  modulation 
or  transition  from  one  key  to  another.  The  first  of  these 
questions  will  naturally  be  discussed  while  considering  the 
methods  in  the  chart  (see  page  89  of  "An  Art- Philosopher's 
Cabinet**)  preceding  co7isonance,  and  the  second  while  con- 
sidering consonance  and  the  methods  following  it. — Idem, 

XX. 


ks    <^ 


a. 


to 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  i6i 

.       HARMONY   OF  POETRY. 

Some  may  suppose  that,  in  poetry,  there  are  no  effects 
corresponding  to  those  of  musical  harmony.  But  this  is 
not  so.  Inasmuch  as  poetry  uses  words,  the  articulation 
of  these  renders  them  more  clearly  distinguishable  from 
one  another  than  are  musical  notes;  and  there  is  not  the 
same  necessity,  as  in  the  latter,  for  merely  tonal  distinctions 
of  quality  and  pitch.  But  science  has  ascertained  that  in 
addition  to  the  pitch  on  which  a  vowel  or  a  consonant  is 
apparently  sounded,  it  has,  at  least,  one  partial  tone  peculiar 
to  itself,  which  tone  is  always  at  the  same  pitch.  For  this 
reason,  alliteration,  assonance,  and  rhyme  all  involve  the 
use  of  like  pitch;  consecutive  syllables  produce  different 
consecutive  degrees  of  pitch,  i.  e.y  melodies,  or  what  are 
termed  tunes  of  verse;  and  every  syllable  containing  a 
vowel  and  a  consonant,  like  an,  for  instance,  contains  two 
tones  that  may  or  may  not  harmonize.  For  these  reasons, 
the  words  of  poetry,  though  in  a  very  subtle,  but,  at  the 
same  time,  suggestive  way,  fulfil  the  same  methods  as 
those  of  musical  harmony.  See  the  author's  "Rhythm  and 
Harmony  in  Poetry  and  Music,"  Chapters  V.  to  XII. — 
The  Essentials  of  Esthetics,  xvii. 

It  is  not  true,  therefore,  that,  in  arranging  words,  all  that 
is  necessary  is  to  put  them  together  grammatically,  and  in 
such  a  way  as  to  indicate  their  sense.  To  produce  satis- 
factory poetic  effects  either  upon  the  mind  or  ear,  they  must 
be  arranged  so  that  their  sounds  shall  occur  in  a  certain 
order. ^ — Rhythm  and  Harmony  in  Poetry  and  Music,  vii. 

HARMONY  OF  TONE  AND  OUTLINE  AS  PRODUCED  INDIRECTLY. 

In  artistic  speech,  as  in  poetry,  the  harmonic  ratios  that 
underlie  musical  pitch  are  often  exactly  though  subtly 
reproduced.  At  the  same  time,  the  poet  who  reproduces 
them  successfully,  does  not  do  so  directly,  i.  e.,  by  thinking 
of  the  pitch  of  his  tones  while  he  is  composing.  He  does 
so  indirectly,  i.  e.,  while  thinking  merely  of  accommodating 
the  sounds  to  the  physiological  requirements  of  the  ear; 
so  that,  as  the  tones  pass,  the  one  into  the  other,  they  shall 
produce  a  satisfactory,  agreeable,  and  artistic  effect;  in 
other  words,  so  that  the  transitions  shall  seem  not  sharp  and 
abrupt,  but  smooth,  euphonious,  and  natural.  In  order 
to  attain  this  end,  poets  use  such  methods  as  in  the  repeated, 

*  See  page  89  of  "An  Art-Philosopher's  Cabinet." 


i62  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

or  regularly  recurring  sounds  in  alliteration,  assonance,  and 
rhyme,  or  in  the  very  easily  coalescing  sounds  in  pho- 
netic syzygy  and  gradation.  .  .  .  When  we  are  using  a 
phrase  like  "Many  men  of  many  minds,"  though  the  un- 
accented syllables  differ,  the  fact  that  the  organs,  being 
once  arranged  for  the  m-sound  in  the  accented  syllables, 
regularly,  when  these  recur,  return  to  this  same  position, 
makes  the  utterance  easy ....  So  in  the  arts  of  outline. 
What  the  artist  successful  in  these  thinks  of,  is  the  method 
of  accommodating  their  appearance  to  the  physiological 
requirements  of  the  eye  so  that  they  shall  have  satisfactory, 
agreeable,  and  artistic  effects.  .  .  .  Again,  outlines,  or 
those  parts  of  them  nearest  to  one  another,  may  be  said  to 
be  arranged  according  to  the  requirement  just  indicated, 
when  they  are  adjusted  in  such  ways  that  straight  lines  are 
made  to  pass  into  curves,  or  curves  of  one  kind  into  those 
of  another  kind,  by  regular  degrees  of  change.  .  .  . 
According  to  this  method,  though  there  may  be  conscious 
changes  in  axis,  focus,  or  lens,  as  the  eyes  look  from  one 
line  or  part  of  a  line  to  another,  the  changes  are  as  slight  as 
possible,  and  occur  by  regular  degrees — in  these  regards 
evidently  producing  effects  corresponding  to  those  of  verse 
which  are  most  nearly  connected  with  phonetic  gradation.^ 
— Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color y  xiv. 

HARMONY,  SIMILARLY  PRODUCED   IN  ALL   THE  ARTS   {see  olso 

correspondences)  . 
Thus  far,  we  have  found  that  poetry  and  music  are  alike 
in  that  both  contain  melody  and  harmony.  But  when  we 
attempt  to  go  beyond  this,  and  to  inquire  in  what  ways 
melody  and  harmony  are  manifested  in  each,  we  find  great 
differences.  This  discovery  is  important,  not  only  on  its 
own  account,  but,  as  we  shall  find  in  another  place,  on 
account  of  the  light  that  it  throws  on  the  correspondences 
which  we  should  expect  to  exist  between  harmony  of  sound 
and  of  color.  That  which  connects  the  arts  is  the  unity 
of  method  underlying  them.  In  each  of  them  this  method 
is  applied  to  a  different  germ.  By  keeping  this  fact  in  mind 
we  shall  be  able  to  recognize,  as  would  otherwise  be  impos- 
sible, in  what  sense  the  effects  of  harmony  in  all  the  arts 
are  secured  in  ways  essentially  the  same. — Rhythm  and 
Harmony  in  Poetry  and  Music,  xii. 

*  See  page  89  of  "An  Art-Philosopher's  Cabinet." 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  163 

HISTORIC,  NOT  THE   HIGHEST   FORM   OF   ART-CRITICISM. 

The  claim  of  the  historian  that  all  art  is  of  interest  and 
deserving  of  study  is  not  true  as  applied  to  the  artist  as  an 
artist.  To  him  only  such  art  is  of  interest  as  has  attained 
a  certain  high  level  of  excellence,  which  it  is  the  object 
of  criticism  to  discover,  and  which  excellence,  as  we  know, 
has  appeared  only  at  certain  favored  periods.  It  is  worth 
while  to  notice,  too,  as  just  suggested  above,  that  these 
periods  are  not  necessarily  identical  with  those  that  are 
under  the  influence  of  the  historic  spirit.  The  tendency 
of  this,  unless  counterbalanced,  is  to  direct  attention  to 
forms  as  forms,  not  to  these  as  expressions  of  spirit;  or,  if  so, 
only  of  the  spirit  of  the  past.  The  practical  results  of  such  a 
tendency  are,  in  the  first  place,  as  already  intimated,  imi- 
tation, and,  in  the  second  place,  degeneracy.  The  nature  of 
the  mind  is  such  that  it  must  vary  somewhat  that  which  it 
imitates;  and  if  its  variations  be  not  wrought  in  accordance 
with  the  principles  underlying  the  first  production  of  the 
imitated  form,  the  original  proportions  of  the  different  parts 
of  this  as  related  to  one  another  are  not  preserved,  and 
the  whole  is  distorted.  For  this  reason,  it  is  fully  as  im- 
portant— to  say  no  more — for  the  artist  to  continue  to 
work  in  accordance  with  the  methods  of  the  great  masters 
as  to  continue  to  produce  the  exact  kind  of  work  that 
they  did.  And  if  we  inquire  into  these  methods,  we  shall 
find  that,  in  art  as  in  religion,  philosophy,  and  science, 
the  one  fact  which  distinguishes  not  only  such  charac- 
ters as  Socrates,  Aristotle,  Confucius,  Gautama,  Paul, 
Copernicus,  and  Newton,  but  also  Raphael,  Angelo, 
Titian,  Shakespeare,  Goethe,  Beethoven,  and  Wagner, 
is  that  they  have  resisted  the  influences  of  traditional- 
ism sufficiently,  at  least,  to  be  moved  as  much  from  within 
as  from  without;  as  much  by  their  own  feeling  and  thinking 
as  by  those  of  others  who  have  preceded  them,  and  whose 
works  surround  them;  as  much,  therefore,  by  that  which 
results  from  a  psychologic  method — for  we  must  not  forget 
that  there  is  always  a  necessary  connection  between  one's 
method  of  studying  art  and  of  practising  it — as  by  that 
which  follows  an  historic.  In  an  age  when  the  influence  of 
the  latter  is  so  potent  that  not  one  in  ten  seems  to  be  able 
to  detect,  even  in  his  own  conceptions,  the  essential  differ- 
ences that  separate  archeology  from  art,  it  is  well  to  have 
:  emphasized  again,  as  is  done  in  every  period  when  pro- 


164  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

duction  is  at  its  best,  the  importance  of  the  former  method. 
— Art  in  Theory,  Preface. 

HOMER,  WHY  HIS  METHODS  DESERVE  STUDY  (see  EARLIER). 

These  poems  of  Homer  have  stood  the  tests  of  centuries, 
and  there  are  reasons  why  they  have  survived  them.  The 
consideration  which  should  interest  us  most  in  the  present 
connection  is  the  fact  that  the  poems  were  produced  by  a 
man  who  spoke  directly  from  the  first  promptings  of  nature; 
a  man  upon  whom  the  methods  of  representation  in  other 
arts,  and  of  presentation  as  used  in  science  and  philosophy, 
had  had  the  least  possible  influence.  In  his  works,  therefore, 
better  than  in  any  others  with  which,  in  our  day,  we  can 
become  acquainted,  we  can  study  the  tendencies  of  poetry 
in  its  most  spontaneous  and  unadulterated  form. — Poetry 
as  a  Representative  Art,  xxii. 

HUMANITIES. 

"The  humanities"  .  .  .  are  the  arts  through  which  a  man 
can  cause  forms,  otherwise  often  merely  material  in  their 
influence,  to  thrill  and  glow  with  emotion  and  meaning; 
through  which  he  can  show  himself  able  to  breathe,  as  it 
were,  something  of  that  sympathetic  and  intellectual  life 
which  has  already  given  life  and  humanity  to  his  own 
material  frame. — Art  in  Theory,  ix. 

HUMANITIES,  SIGNIFICANCE  OF  THE  TERM  AS  APPLIED  TO  ART. 

Instead  of  considering  particular  works  of  art,  as  they 
appeal  to  individuals,  take  them  collectively,  as  they  appeal 
to  men  in  general.  What  do  men  call  them?  One  term, 
almost  universally  used,  is  ''the  humanities."  Would 
this  term  have  been  used  by  way  of  distinction  unless  it  had 
been  thought  possible  to  embody  in  the  art- work  all  the  high- 
est possibilities  of  humanity  ?  Certainly  not.  But  is  there 
any  highest  possibility  of  humanity  which  is  not  connected 
with  the  human  mind?  Certainly  not,  again.  But  what 
is  the  mind?  What  but  a  reservoir  of  thought  and  emotion 
ever  on  the  alert  to  detect  significance  in  everything  that 
is  seen,  and  to  express  this  in  everything  that  is  handled? 
And  what  is  a  human  mind?  A  mind  in  a  body,  not  so? 
And  this  body  is  a  combination  of  nerves  and  muscles, 
sensitive  to  every  phase  of  apparent  form,  and  capable  of 
being  trained  to  an  almost  limitless  extent  in  the  direction 
of  reproducing  it.  The  arts,  therefore,  which  are  distinc- 
tively the  humanities,  must  involve  both  the  expression 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  165 

of  significance  and  the  reproduction  of  form. — Paintings 
Sculpture^  and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,  xiii. 

HUMANIZING    OF    NATURE    BY    ART. 

Art  humanizes  nature  according  to  the  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings of  one  man,  yet  succeeds  in  making  it  human  for  all 
because  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  this  man  accord  in 
general  with  those  of  all  men.  The  artist  is  a  mediator 
between  the  actual  truth  of  nature  and  the  possibility 
in  the  race  of  recognizing  actual  truth.  He  is  in  fact  the 
priest  of  nature,  in  his  rank  inferior  only  to  the  priest  of 
revelation.  He,  too,  lifts  the  veil  that  hangs  about  God's 
earthly  tabernacle.  He,  too,  steps  within  the  holy  place, 
bows  before  the  light  which  shines  from  the  Shekinah,  and 
comes  back  to  the  masses  bearing  them  a  message  from  that 
which  always  dwells  behind  the  symbol. — The  Representa- 
tive Significance  of  Form,  xiv. 

IDEAL,    AN,   WHAT   IT  IS. 

An  ideal  is  an  idea  represented  to  the  imagination  in 
the  outlines,  greatly  beautified  often,  of  some  known  object, 
event,  or  experience.  This  is  always  the  condition  when  a 
conception  becomes  artistic.  No  matter  how  much  in  it 
may  be  derived  from  the  vague  intimations  of  subconscious 
intellection,  it  is  fitted  for  art  in  the  degree  alone  in  which, 
for  the  time  being,  it  has  been  made  to  assume  exactly 
what  a  religious  conception  may  not  even  suggest,  namely,  a 
definite  form. — Idem,  ix. 

IDEALS,  WHY  ORIGINATED. 

Science  is  concerned  with  knowledge;  and  one  cannot 
have  knowledge  without  some  comprehension  of  preceding 
material  conditions.  But  art  is  concerned  with  ideals; 
and  ideals,  however  much  or  little  one  may  know  of  a 
preceding  condition,  are  not  material.  They  are  mental. 
Circumstances  and  our  very  nature  prevent  all  of  us  from 
learning  about  more  than  a  few  objects  and  from  experi- 
encing more  than  a  few  phases  of  life.  Nevertheless,  we  all 
desire  to  possess  the  results  that  would  ensue,  provided 
such  were  not  the  case.  Therefore  the  boy  who  cannot 
have  the  experience  surmises  what  might  be  the  experience 
of  a  sailor  or  a  general;  and  the  man  in  the  same  condition 
surmises  what  might  be  the  experience  of  a  fairy  or  a  saint. 
— Idem,  X. 


i66  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

ILLUSTRATIONS,  WHY  EFFECTIVE  IN  DISCOURSE. 

We  all  know  that  the  man  who  makes  a  large  use  of 
illustrations  and  figures,  the  imaginative  man,  or  the  man 
sufficiently  imaginative  to  give  a  graphic  as  well  as  logical 
form  to  his  thought,  is,  as  a  rule,  a  more  successful  ora- 
tor than  the  man  who  does  not.  Why?  It  is  because 
he  is  addressing  his  audience  according  to  methods  of 
the  mind's  nature  which  operate  in  a  different  and  deeper 
way  than  is  exemplified  in  plain  language.  He  is  com- 
municating his  thought  not  merely  as  it  has  assumed  shape 
when  formulated  on  the  lips,  but  as  it  emerges  into  con- 
sciousness, when  conceived  in  the  mind.  So  far  as  possible, 
without  the  intervention  or  interference  of  audible  forms 
between  his  conceptions  and  his  hearers'  conceptions,  or 
between  what  he  apprehends  and  what  he  desires  to  have 
them  apprehend,  he  is  bringing  that  which  is  in  the  depths 
of  his  own  spirit  into  direct  contact  with  the  depths  of  their 
spirits.  In  this  way,  he  is  often  making  them  do  more  than 
merely  understand.  He  is  leading  them,  step  by  step, 
through  all  the  processes  of  his  own  mind,  starting  with 
these  processes  at  the  very  springs  of  psychic  action.  He 
is  influencing  them  as  if  they  were  expressing  their  own 
thought.  In  making  them  visualize  this,  he  is  making 
them,  for  themselves,  vitalize  it — making  them  feel  and 
realize  it  in  a  way  impossible  according  to  any  other  method. 
Essay  on  Teaching  in  Drawing. 

IMAGINATION    AND    COMPARISON   AS   USED    IN  ART    {sec 

COMPARISON  and  contrast). 
What  is  the  faculty  of  mind  from  which  springs  the  kind 
of  repetition  developed  in  art  when  elaborated  in  accord- 
ance with  the  principle  of  representation.  What  is  it  but 
the  imagination,  the  faculty  which  has  to  do  with  the  imag- 
ing of  one  thing  in  or  by  another  ?  In  an  art-product,  forms 
are  grouped  together  because  imagination  perceives  that 
they  are  alike  or  allied,  in  other  words  that  they  compare, 
either  exactly  or  very  nearly.  If,  for  the  sake  of  variety, 
a  few  subordinate  features  are  introduced  of  which  this  is 
not  true,  even  then  the  clearest  possible  consciousness 
that  comparison  is  the  process  and  that  these  features  are 
exceptional,  is  manifested  by  the  fact  that  they  are  ac- 
knowledged to  be  introduced  artistically  in  the  degree  in 
which  they  exactly  contrast  with  the  other  features.     But 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  167 

no  one  can  originate  or  recognize  a  contrast, — which  is  an 
effect  caused  by  agreement  in  many  features  but  disagree- 
ment in,  at  least,  one  feature, — except  as  a  result  of  com- 
parison, which  itself  is  merely  the  mode  of  procedure  of 
imagination. — Art  in  Theory y  v. 

IMAGINATION,     AS     AFFECTED     BY     REPRESENTATION     AND 
IMITATION    {see   REPRESENTATION   VS.   IMITATION). 

It  is  precisely  for  this  reason,  too,  because  art  does 
and  can  represent,  and  does  not  and  need  not  literally 
imitate,  that  the  faculty  through  which  it  exerts  its  chief 
influence  upon  the  mind,  as  has  been  so  often  observed 
but  seldom  explained,  is  the  imagination.  A  literal  imi- 
tation, leaving  nothing  for  the  imagination  to  do,  does  not 
stimulate  its  action.  Whistles  or  bells  in  music;  common- 
place phrases  or  actions  in  poetry;  and  indiscriminate  par- 
ticularities of  detail  in  the  work  of  pencil,  brush,  or  chisel, 
usually  produce  disenchanting  effects  entirely  aside  from 
those  that  we  feel  to  be  legitimate  to  art.  This  is  largely 
because  the  artist,  in  using  them,  has  forgotten  that  his  aim 
is  not  to  imitate  but  to  represent.  It  is  well  to  observe  here, 
too,  that  an  effect,  appealing  primarily  to  the  imagination, 
necessarily  passes  through  it  into  all  the  faculties  of  mind; 
and  therefore  that  the  distinctive  interest  awakened  in  them 
all  by  works  of  art  is  really  due  to  that  which  affects  first  the 
imagination. — Art  in  Theory,  iv. 

IMAGINATION,  AS  AIDING  SCIENCE  (5^6  SCIENCE  AIDED  BY  ART). 

The  mind  that  can  make  discoveries  of  great  truths  and 
principles  is,  as  a  rule,  the  mind  that,  when  it  can  advance 
no  longer,  step  by  step,  can  wing  itself  into  these  unexplored 
regions.  How  can  it  do  this?  Through  imagination. 
How  can  imagination,  when  doing  it,  detect  the  truth? 
According  to  a  law  of  being  which  makes  the  mind  of  man 
work  in  harmony  with  the  mind  in  nature,  which  makes  an 
imaginative  surmisal  with  reference  to  material  things  a 
legitimate  product  of  an  intelligent  understanding  of  them. 
This  is  the  law  of  correspondence  or  analogy,  which  can 
often  sweep  a  man's  thoughts  entirely  beyond  that  which  is 
a  justifiable  scientific  continuation  of  the  impression 
received  from  nature.  Only  in  art  is  the  mind  necessitated 
and  habituated  to  recognize  this  law,  which  fact  may 
not  only  suggest  a  reason  why  so  many  successful  inventors 
have  started  in  life,  like  Fulton,  Morse,  and  Bell,  by  making 


i68  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

a  study  of  some  form  of  art;  but  it  may  almost  justify 
a  general  statement  that  no  great  discovery  is  possible  to 
one  whose  mind  is  not  able  to  go  beyond  that  which  is 
ordinarily  done  in  science. — Essay  on  Art  and  Education. 

Imagination  is  a  forerunner  of  investigation ;  and  investi- 
gation furnishes  an  impetus  to  imagination.  For  this 
reason  a  great  thinker,  whether  a  poet  or  a  philosopher, 
although  he  will  incline  to  the  one  method  or  to  the  other, 
according  to  the  bent  of  his  genius,  must  not  be  wholly 
deficient  in  the  qualities  that  go  to  make  up  either.  Nor,  so 
far  as  education  can  atone  for  deficiency,  will  his  education 
be  complete  until  he  has  cultivated  the  powers  that  go  to 
make  up  both.  Goethe  was  a  student  of  science;  and  his 
poetry  owes  much  to  his  scientific  studies.  Dante  and 
Milton  were  scientific  in  their  poetry,  and  Plato  and  Spinoza 
were  poetic  in  their  philosophies.  As  Sir  Wm.  Hamilton 
says,  in  the  thirty-third  of  his  "Lectures  on  Metaphysics": 
**A  vigorous  power  of  representation  is  as  indispensable  a 
condition  of  success  in  the  abstract  sciences  as  in  the  poetical 
and  plastic  arts;  and  it  may  accordingly  be  reasonably 
doubted  whether  Aristotle  or  Homer  were  possessed  of  the 
more  powerful  imagination." — The  Representative  Signifi- 
cance of  Form,  viii. 

IMAGINATION,  AS  INFLUENCED  BY  MUSIC  VS.  POETRY. 

Literature  belongs  to  the  department  of  art.  This  fact 
necessitates  its  appealing,  not — as  science  does — to  the 
understanding  through  direct  statements  with  reference 
to  ideas  or  emotions,  but  to  the  imagination  through  forms 
representative  of  these.  In  other  words,  the  imagi- 
nation thinks  of  that  which  art  presents,  by  perceiving 
images  which  appear  in  the  mind.  But  in  different  arts 
these  images  are  awakened  in  different  ways.  The  inarticu- 
lated  sounds  heard  in  music  start  within  one  a  general 
emotive  tendency— active  or  restful,  triumphant  or  despond- 
ing, gay  or  sad,  as  the  case  may  be — and  this  tendency 
influences  the  general  direction  of  thought;  but  exactly 
what  the  form  of  the  thought — or  the  image — shall  be,  the 
mind  is  left  free  to  determine  for  itself.  If  a  reciter  forget 
to  appeal  to  imagination  according  to  the  methods  of  sound, 
he  ceases  to  have  that  drift  which  is  necessary  in  order  to 
draw  into  the  channel  of  his  thought,  and  sweep  onward,  as 
music  does,  the  emotions  of  his  audience.     If  he  forget  to 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  169 

appeal  to  imagination  according  to  the  methods  of  sight, 
i.  e.,  to  remember  to  what  an  extent  his  words,  and  each 
word  in  its  place,  must  cause  his  audience  to  think  in 
pictures,  then  his  motive,  being  merely  musical,  begins  to 
have  the  effect  legitimate  to  music.  It  either  lulls  people  to 
sleep  or,  if  not,  at  least  leaves  their  minds  free  to  deter- 
mine for  themselves  what  shall  be  the  substance  of  their 
thought. — Essay  on  the  Literary  Artist  and  Elocution. 

IMAGINATION,  THE  SOURCE  OF  ART. 

Art  is  distinctively  a  product  of  imagination,  of  that 
faculty  of  the  mind  which  has  to  do  with  perceiving  images, 
— the  image  of  one  thing  in  the  form  of  another.  While 
science,  therefore,  may  find  a  single  form  interesting  in  itself, 
art,  at  its  best,  never  does.  It  looks  for  another  form  with 
which  the  first  may  be  compared.  While  science  may  be 
satisfied  with  a  single  fact,  art,  at  its  best,  never  is.  It 
demands  a  parallel  fact  or  fancy,  of  which  the  first  furnishes 
a  suggestion. — Essay  on  Art  and  Education. 

IMITATION   AND    EXPRESSION    NOT  ANTAGONISTIC. 

Why  cannot  and  why  should  not  a  work  of  art  be  equally 
successful  in  imitation  and  in  expression,  in  execution  and 
in  purpose? — there  is  no  reason  except  that  the  most  of 
us  are  narrow  in  our  aims  and  sympathies,  and  prefer  to 
have  our  art  as  contracted  and  one-sided  as  ourselves. 
But  this  is  not  the  spirit  that  will  ever  lead  to  the  develop- 
ment of  great  art.  It  may  foster  the  mechanical  school, 
where  everything  runs  to  line,  and  the  impressionist,  where 
everything  runs  to  color,  but  it  will  not  always  blend  both 
lines  and  colors  sufficiently  to  produce  even  satisfactory 
form,  and  it  will  never  make  this  form  an  inspiring  pres- 
ence by  infusing  into  it  the  vitality  of  that  thought  and 
feeling  which  alone  can  entitle  it  to  be  a  work  of  the  hu- 
manities.— Art  in  Theory,  ill. 

IMITATION,  ARTISTIC,  DUE  TO  EXCESS  OF  LIFE-FORCE. 

Imitation  without  reference  to  that  which  underlies  the 
method,  or  has  to  do  with  the  end  which  it  is  desired 
to  attain,  always  arises  from  a  condition  in  which  the 
tendency  to  activity  on  the  part  of  the  imitator  is  in  excess 
of  that  which  needs  to  be  expended,  or  which,  in  the  cir- 
cumstances, can  be  expended,  upon  gaining  what  is  really 
necessary  for  the  supply  of  material  wants.  The  young 
cannot  realize  the  need  of  expending  it  upon  these,  nor  do 


I70  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

they  know  how  and  where  to  expend  it  thus.  Therefore 
they  play,  and  the  form  of  their  play  is  imitative.  Their 
elders,  on  the  contrary,  realize  that  they  must  work;  and 
they  have  learned  how  and  where  to  do  it.  Therefore  they 
seldom  play,  having  neither  the  time  nor  the  inclination  for 
it.  But  that  which  causes  indulgence  in  play  in  any  case  is 
excess  of  life-force  which,  if  it  cannot  be  expended  in  obtain- 
ing that  which  is  needful  for  the  supply  of  material  wants, 
must  be  expended  in  other  directions. — Idem,  vii. 

IMITATION,   ARTISTIC,  INCLUDES    GENERALIZATION. 

Imagine  a  gardener  classifying  his  roses — as  he  must  do 
instinctively  the  moment  that  he  has  to  deal  with  any  large 
number  of  them — and  obtaining  thus  a  general  concep- 
tion of  the  flower.  Then  imagine  him  trying  in  some 
artificial  way  to  produce  a  single  rose  embodying  this 
conception.  This  rose  will  very  likely  resemble  some  one 
rose  particularly  present  to  his  mind  while  forming  it; 
yet,  probably,  because,  before  starting  with  his  work,  he 
has  obtained  a  conception  of  roses  in  general,  his  product 
will  manifest  some  rose-like  qualities  not  possessed  by 
the  specimen  before  him,  but  suggested  by  others.  That 
is  to  say,  because  of  his  general  conception  derived  from 
classifying,  he  does  more  than  imitate — he  represents 
in  that  which  is  a  copy  of  one  rose  ideas  derived  from 
many  roses.  The  same  principle  applies  to  all  works  of  art. 
Let  a  man  write  a  story  or  paint  a  picture.  In  nine  cases 
out  of  ten  in  the  exact  degree  in  which  he  has  observed  and 
classified  many  like  events  or  scenes,  he  will  add  to  his  pro- 
duct the  results  of  his  own  thinking  or  generalizing.  In 
fact,  it  is  a  question  whether  the  chief  charm  of  such  works 
is  not  imparted  by  the  introduction  into  them,  in  legitimate 
ways,  of  these  kinds  of  generalizations  having  their  sources 
not  in  the  particular  things  described,  but  in  the  brains  of 
the  describers,  who  have  already  been  made  familiar  with 
many  other  things  somewhat  similar.  Shakespeare  certainly 
did  not  get  the  most  attractive  features  of  his  historical 
plays  from  history,  nor  Turner  those  of  his  pictures  from 
nature.  So,  as  a  rule,  even  in  the  most  imitative  of  works, 
the  really  great  artist,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  gives 
form  to  conceptions  that  he  has  derived  from  an  acquaint- 
ance with  many  other  objects  of  the  same  class  as  those 
imitated. — The  Genesis  of  Art-Form,  i. 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  171 

IMITATION  IN  ART,  ARISTOTLE 's  CONCEPTION  OF. 

The  general  result  of  emphasizing  unduly  the  imitative 
side  of  aesthetics  is  to  lead  men  to  consider  art  merely  a 
reproduction  of  reality  as  manifested  in  form,  and  not  to 
consider  it,  in  any  important  sense,  a  representation  of 
ideality,  or  an  expression  of  human  thought  and  feeling.  Is 
there  anything  in  Aristotle's  conception  of  art  as  imitation 
to  justify  a  deduction  that  he  did  not  consider  it  to  be  an 
expression  of  human  thought  and  feeling? — Strange  as 
it  may  appear  to  some,  nothing  whatever.  His  own 
explanation  of  what  he  meant  by  imitation  or  mimicry 
{\)X^ri<:\q)  includes  all  that  most  idealists  would  desire  to 
have  included  in  the  conception  of  that  which  art  should 
do.  "Homer,"  says  Aristotle  (Chap.  2),  "imitates  better 
men  than  exist,"  and  again,  in  Chap.  25,  "the  poet," 
he  says,  "being  an  imitator,  like  the  painter  or  any  other 
artist,  must,  of  necessity,  always  imitate  one  of  three 
things, — either  such  as  they  were  or  are;  or  such  as  they  are 
said  to  be  or  appear  to  be;  or  such  as  they  ought  to  be" 
(Thomas  Taylor's  translation).  ...  In  art,  imitation  or 
imaging  is  a  means  not  an  end, — a  means  of  representing 
through  accurate  imitations  or  images  of  external  objects 
that  which  is,  or  appears  to  be,  or  ought  to  be.  This  seems 
to  be  the  only  fair  interpretation  to  be  put  upon  Aristotle's 
word;  and  this  interpretation  reveals  at  once  the  depth  and 
the  comprehensiveness  of  his  aesthetic  insight. — Art  in 
Theory y  Appendix  iii. 

IMITATION    OF    THE    ART-WORK    OF    OTHERS. 

It  is  hard  enough  to  produce  a  work  of  art  which  is 
natural,  when  one  models  directly  from  nature.  It  is 
well-nigh  impossible  to  do  so,  when  one  models  merely  or 
mainly  from  that  which  another  man,  however  accurate 
his  eye,  has  seen  in  nature.  The  work  of  the  imitator 
will  be  as  much  inferior  to  the  work  of  art  after  which  he 
models,  as  the  latter  is  to  nature's  original. — Art  in  Theory , 
III. 

IMITATION,  SOLELY,  NOT  THE  AIM  OF  HIGH  ART  (see  mention 

of  it  under  comparison  composition,  representation). 

The  aim  of  high  art  is  never  mere  imitation;  and  the 

truth  of  the  statement  is  nowhere  exemplified  more  clearly 

than  when  applied  to  the  use  of  color.     Merely  because 

blue  in  the  natural  spectrum  stands  between  green  and 


172  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

purple,  is  no  proof,  as  we  shall  find  by-and-by,  that  a  blue 
object  should  be  represented  in  a  painting  as  standing  next 
to  one  that  is  green  or  violet.  In  the  natural  spectrum,  as 
in  a  natural  scene,  bounded  by  only  the  horizon,  there  are 
other  counteracting,  balancing,  or  complementary  influences 
of  color,  which  may  render  an  effect  entirely  different  from 
that  which  alone  is  possible  where  a  few  colors  are  intro- 
duced into  the  narrow  limits  of  a  picture.  Besides  this, 
the  mere  association  of  certain  hues  in  nature  does  not 
make  the  arrangement  beautiful;  and,  if  not,  art  has  no 
business  to  reproduce  it.  For  both  reasons,  it  must  always 
be  borne  in  mind  that  art  deals  with  selected  colors,  just  as 
poetry  and  music  deal  with  selected  tones;  and  harmony 
in  all  these  arts,  though  discovered  from  a  study  of  prin- 
ciples in  nature,  is  distinctively  a  human  invention. — 
Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color,  xvii. 

Art  is  the  work  of  a  man  possessing  more  than  merely 
physical  senses.  The  reason  why  he  desires  at  all  to  con- 
struct an  art-form  is  because  natural  forms  have  produced 
an  effect  upon  his  mind.  And  it  is  this  effect  that  he  wishes 
to  reproduce.  If  he  can  do  it  by  mere  imitation,  well  and 
good;  but  there  are  many  cases  in  which  he  cannot  do  it 
thus.  Yet  even  then,  even  in  poetry,  in  which  .  .  .  the 
imitative  element  is  often  very  slight,  who  can  fail  to  per- 
ceive that,  as  in  the  "Voices  of  the  Night"  of  Longfellow, 
or  the  tragedies  of  Shakespeare,  the  effects  of  nature  upon  the 
mind  may  be  reproduced;  that  the  reader  or  hearer  feels 
sad  or  joyous,  weeps  or  laughs,  precisely  as  he  would,  were 
he,  in  natural  life,  to  experience  the  actual  moods  or  per- 
ceive the  actual  events  imaginatively  presented  to  his  con- 
templation? A  similar  principle  evidently  applies  also  to 
the  products  of  painting,  sculpture,  and  architecture. — 
Art  in  Theory,  I  v. 

IMITATION  vs.   REPRESENTATION  IN  ART   {see  also 
REPRESENTATION  IN  ART  VS.  IMITATION). 

So  with  the  general  line  of  thought  in  a  poem.  An 
imitation  so  exact  apparently  that  we  should  think  it 
written  down  within  hearing,  of  the  ravings  of  a  mad 
king,  or  of  lamentations  at  the  loss  of  a  friend,  would  not 
appeal  to  us  like  what  we  know  to  be  merely  representa- 
tions of  these  in  the  blank  verse  of  Shakespeare's  **King 
Lear,"  or  in  the  rhyming  verse  of  Tennyson's  **In  Memo- 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  173 

riam."  The  talk  of  the  phonograph  will  never  be  an  accept- 
able substitute  for  the  soliloquy  or  dialogue  of  the  artistic 
drama  or  novel.  A  like  fact  is  true  of  the  photograph. 
For  the  very  reason  that  it  is  an  imitation,  in  the  sense  of 
being  a  literal  presentation,  of  every  outline  on  which  the 
light  at  the  time  when  it  was  taken  happened  to  fall,  it  does 
not  awaken  in  us  the  kind  or  degree  of  imaginative  inter- 
est or  of  sympathy  that  we  feel  in  paintings  or  statues. 
In  contrast  to  the  impression  received  from  a  photo- 
graph, in  gazing  at  these,  we  feel  that  we  are  looking 
through  an  artist's  eye,  seeing  only  what  he  saw  or  thought 
fit  for  us  to  see,  and  that  everything  in  them  is  traceable 
to  the  skill  displayed  by  him  when  transferring  what  in 
nature  is  presented  in  one  medium  into  another  medium,  as 
when  delineating  flesh  and  foliage  through  the  use  of  color 
and  when  turning  veins  and  lace  into  marble. — Essentials 
of  Esthetics,  vi. 

It  is  mainly  owing  to  a  lack  of  all  appeal  to  the  imagi- 
nation or  the  sympathies,  that  accurate  imitations  of  the 
sounds  that  come  from  birds,  beasts,  winds,  and  waters  fail 
to  affect  us  as  do  notes  which  are  recognized  to  be  produced 
by  wind  and  stringed  instruments  in  the  passages  descrip- 
tive of  the  influence  of  a  forest,  in  Wagner's  opera  of  "  Sieg- 
fried," or  in  the  ''Pastoral  Symphonies"  of  Handel  and 
Beethoven.  Nor  do  any  number  of  tones  imitating  exactly 
the  expressions  of  love,  grief,  or  fright  compare,  in  their 
influence  upon  us,  with  the  representations  of  the  same  in 
the  combined  vocal  and  instrumental  melodies  and  har- 
monies of  love  songs,  dirges,  and  tragic  operas.  The 
truth  of  this  may  be  more  readily  conceded  in  an  art,  like 
music,  perhaps,  than  in  some  of  the  other  arts;  for  in  it  the 
imitative  elements  are  acknowledged  to  be  at  a  minimum. 
To  such  an  extent  is  this  the  case,  in  fact,  that  some  have 
declared  it  to  be  presentative  rather  than  representative,  not 
recognizing  that  a  use  of  the  elements  of  duration,  force, 
pitch,  and  quality,  such  as  enables  us  to  distinguish  between 
a  love-song,  a  dirge,  and  a  tragic  passage,  would  altogether 
fail  to  convey  their  meaning,  unless  there  were  something 
in  the  effects  to  represent  ideas  or  emotions  which  we  were 
accustomed  to  associate  with  similar  effects  as  they  are 
presented  in  nature,  especially  as  they  are  presented  in  natu- 
ral speech. — Art  in  Theory,  iv. 


174  ^^  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

IMITATION,  ITS  USE  IN  MUSIC  AND  POETRY. 

It  is  evident  that  the  analogies  between  the  general  order 
of  series  of  sounds  and  the  order  of  particular  phases  of 
nature  that  they  are  intended  to  suggest,  can  be  rendered 
much  more  distinctly  apprehensible  by  adding  to  what  is 
only  generally  representative  by  way  of  analogy  that  which 
is  specifically  so  by  way  of  imitation.  It  would  need  but  a 
few  imitative  strokes  of  a  drum,  for  instance,  to  make  that 
which  might  suggest  either  a  storm  or  a  battle,  suggest  one 
of  these  rather  than  the  other.  In  this  regard,  musical 
forms  correspond  exactly  to  poetic  forms.  Some  words  are 
representative  because  they  suggest  a  similarity  in  under- 
lying causes — like  the  word  expressive^  derived  as  it  is  from 
analogies  between  pressing  one  material  substance  out  of 
another  material  substance,  and  doing  something  similar 
with  a  purely  mental  substance.  Other  words  are  repre- 
sentative because  they  suggest  a  similarity  in  apparent 
effects — ^like  the  imitative  words  **buzz"  or  ''crackle." 
The  same  is  true,  too,  of  phrases  and  sentences.  Some 
are  artistic  because  they  recall  an  analogous  series  of  rela- 
tionships, and  some  because  they  also  recall  an  analogous 
series  of  sounds. — Rhythm  and  Harmony  in  Poetry  and 
Music:  Music  as  a  Representative  Art,  viii. 

IMITATION,  WHY  LITTLE,  IN  MUSIC  AND  ARCHITECTURE. 

A  symphony  is  constructed  from  a  single  significant  series 
of  tones;  and  precisely  in  the  same  way  a  building  is  con- 
structed from  a  single  significant  series  of  outlines,  as  in  a 
rounded  or  pointed  arch.  In  both  arts,  however,  there  is 
an  occasional  return  to  nature  for  the  purpose  of  incorporat- 
ing, if  not  imitating,  in  the  product  some  new  expression 
of  significance.  But  as  both  arts  are  developed,  as  will  be 
shown  in  the  first  chapter  following,  from  a  sustained  and 
subjective  method  of  giving  expression  to  a  first  suggestion, 
a  return  to  nature  is  much  less  frequent  in  them  than  in 
the  other  arts.  Poetry,  being  developed  from  the  unsus- 
tained  and  responsive  methods  of  expression  underlying 
language,  manifests  a  constant  tendency  to  talk  back  and, 
therefore,  to  mention  and  describe  what  has  interrupted  the 
flow  of  thought  and  presented  new  thought.  Painting  and 
sculpture,  being  developed  from  the  same  methods  of  expres- 
sion, when  underlying  vision,  manifest  a  constant  tendency 
to  look  back  and,  therefore,  to  imitate  and  depict  what  has 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  I75 

interrupted  the  contemplation  of  one  object  of  sight  and 
presented  another. — Idem,  Introduction  to  Music  as  a  Rep- 
resentative Art. 

IMPRESSIONISM  AS  RELATED  TO  MUSIC. 

Only  since  there  has  come  to  be  a  scientific  study  of  the 
philosophic  reasons  underlying  the  laws  of  musical  har- 
mony and  composition — such  a  study  as  is  exemplified  in 
the  great  work  of  Helmholtz  on  **  The  Sensations  of  Tone  " — 
has  there  been  a  study  of  the  effects  of  color-harmony  and 
composition  of  such  a  nature  and  with  such  a  purpose  as  is 
manifested  in  the  painting  of  the  modern  impressionists. 
— Essay  on  Music  as  Related  to  Other  Arts. 

IMPRESSIONISM,  INFLUENCE  OF,  ON  DRAWING. 

An  age  of  the  paintings  of  impressionists,  in  which  mere 
patches  of  color  would  be  considered  all  that  was  requisite 
in  order  to  enable  the  imagination  to  construct  its  own 
contours  for  objects,  would  be  an  age  in  which  drawing 
would  become  a  lost  art.  Here,  as  elsewhere,  the  truth 
seems  to  lie  between  the  extremes.  And  does  not  the  sal- 
vation of  art  as  of  life  depend  upon  its  fidelity  to  truth  ? — 
Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts, 

XVI. 

IMPRESSIONIST  PAINTING  (sce  POETRY  AS  PICTORIAL). 

The  endeavor  appears  to  be  to  influence  the  eye  by  means 
of  color  aside  from  shapes  in  a  way  analogous  to  that 
in  which,  in  music,  the  ear  is  acknowledged  to  be  influenced 
by  sounds  aside  from  words.  Is  it  possible  to  suppose 
that  such  effects  would  ever  have  been  attempted,  if  it  had 
not  been  for  suggestions  derived  from  music?  It  is  inter- 
esting to  notice,  too,  that,  when  carried  to  excess,  impres- 
sionism, which  may  be  described  as  painting  influenced 
by  decorative  motives,  is  apt  to  prove  unsatisfactory  owing 
to  neglect  of  the  natural  requirements  of  picturing  in  out- 
line, in  exactly  the  same  way  in  which,  as  was  pointed  out 
a  moment  ago,  poetry,  influenced  by  the  musical  motive,  is 
apt  to  prove  unsatisfactory  owing  to  its  neglect  of  the 
requirements  of  picturing  in  words.  One  can  no  more  make 
a  thoroughly  successful  painting  without  lines  that,  at  least, 
suggest  to  the  mind  a  very  definite  form  than  he  can  make 
a  thoroughly  successful  poem  without  words  and  phrases 
that  do  the  same.  Nevertheless,  just  as  the  influence  of 
music  on  verse  has  been,  in  part,  beneficial,  so  too  has  been 


176  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

its  influence,  so  far  as  exerted,  in  the  directions  of  which  I 
have  been  speaking,  upon  the  use  of  pigments.  The  con- 
ceptions which  underlie  modem  impressionism  will  prob- 
bably  never  cease  to  manifest  themselves,  and  in  ways, 
too,  perfectly  legitimate  to  the  art  of  painting. — Essay  on 
Music  as  Related  to  Other  Arts. 

INDIVIDUALITY,    DISTINGUISHING    THE    PROSAIC    FROM    THE 

POETIC. 

One  difference  between  the  prosaic  and  the  poetic,  as 
respectively  illustrated  in  these  passages,  lies  in  the  fact 
that  the  former  is  devoid  of  any  formative  influence  upon 
the  details  mentioned  produced  by  the  intervening 
human  mind  through  which  it  has  come  to  us,  whereas  of 
the  latter  the  contrary  is  true.  The  same  should  be  true 
of  all  products  purporting  to  be  those  of  art.  No  men 
are  great  painters  merely  because  they  accurately  repro- 
duce the  shapes  or  hues  of  nature;  or  great  sculptors, 
merely  because  they  remould  some  ancient  masterpiece, 
or  merely  imitate  in  marble  some  modern  living  model. 
It  is  the  individuality  of  the  effect  characterizing  the  new 
product  that  gives  it  artistic  soul  and  life.  In  what  con- 
sists the  difference  between  the  artists  living  in  Rome 
to-day  and  the  artisans  who  do  their  chiselling  for  them? 
Is  it  not  in  this? — that  the  artists  give  form  to  their  own 
conceptions,  while  the  artisans  give  form  to  the  concep- 
tions of  their  employers? — The  Representative  Significance  of 
Form,  XIV. 

INDIVIDUALITY  IN  ART  {seC  olso  GENIUS  and  PERSONALITY). 

The  truth  of  art  is  surmised  and  embodied  according  to 
the  methods  of  imagination  and  expression  pectdiar  to  the 
temperament  of  one  man;  and  it  becomes  the  property  of 
all  mainly  on  account  of  the  individual  influence  of  this  man 
whose  intuitive  impressions  have  been  so  accurate  as  to 
recommend  themselves  to  the  aesthetic  apprehensions,  and 
to  enlist  the  sympathies,  of  those  about  him. — Idem. 

INDIVIDUALITY   MANIFESTED    UNCONSCIOUSLY. 

A  moment's  thought  will  enable  us  to  recognize  that 
that  which  constitutes  one's  individuality  often  lies  in  traits 
of  which  he  is  unaware.  Or,  if  through  a  study  of  him- 
self or  of  the  opinion  of  the  community  he  have  become 
aware  of  them,  they  are  even  then  expressed,  as  a  rule, 
involuntarily.     A  man  is  never  more  thoroughly  himself 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  177 

than  when  so  interested  in  something  else  as  to  forget  him- 
self. The  Christ  said  that  "he  that  loseth  his  life  for  my 
sake  shall  find  it."  Wherefore  shotdd  not  art  affirm  the 
same? — Idem. 

INFORMATION    INCREASING    ENJOYMENT    OF    ART    {see    also 

EXPLANATIONS  and  literary). 
An  art-product  appeals  to  a  man  as  distinguished  from 
an  animal.  If  so,  the  appeal  must  be  made  to  that  which 
distinguishes  him  from  the  animal.  This,  of  course, 
is  his  intellect,  together  with  the  character  and  amount  of 
intelligence  ascribable  to  it.  But  if  this  be  so,  an  increase 
of  intelligence  must  increase  his  capacity  for  recognizing 
the  appeal  of  art.  As  applied  to  a  particular  art-product, 
an  increase  of  his  intelligence  with  reference  to  either  its 
form  or  subject,  must  increase  his  capacity  for  enjoying 
it.  Nor  need  it  make  any  essential  difference  whether 
this  intelligence  be  the  result  of  his  general  information, 
or  of  special  information  with  reference  to  the  object 
immediately  before  him,  such  as  he  can  derive  from  a 
guide  book.  A  man  with  a  knowledge  of  history,  how- 
ever derived,  will  certainly  take  more  interest  in  a  paint- 
ing like  Raphael's  "School  of  Athens".  .  .  than  will  one 
ignorant  of  history ;  and  a  student  of  the  Bible  will  take  more 
interest  than  will  one  ignorant  of  it  in  a  painting  like  "The 
Death  of  Ananias.".  .  .  The  degree  of  beauty  is  often 
increased  in  the  degree  in  which  the  number  of  effects  enter- 
ing into  its  generally  complex  nature  is  increased.  This 
is  true  even  though  some  of  these  effects,  as  in  the  case 
of  forms  conjured  before  the  imagination  by  a  verbal  de- 
scription, may  come  from  a  source  which,  considered  in  itself, 
is  not  aesthetic.  It  must  not  be  overlooked,  however,  that 
all  beauty  whatever  is  a  characteristic  of  form;  and  that 
intellectual  effects,  like  these  explanations,  to  have  an 
aesthetic  influence,  must  always  be  presented  to  apprehen- 
sion in  connection  with  an  external  form  with  which  they 
can  be  clearly  associated.  For  this  reason,  though  they 
may  add  to  the  aesthetic  interest,  where  it  already  exists, 
they  cannot,  of  themselves,  make  up  for  a  lack  of  it.  .  .  . 
A  picture  cannot  be  all  that  a  work  of  art  should  be, 
unless,  without  one's  knowing  what  the  explanation  is 
designed  to  impart,  the  drawing  and  coloring  can,  in  some 
degree,  at  least,  attract  and  satisfy  aesthetic  interest.  .  .  . 


178  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

But  the  knowledge  that  we  may  get  with  reference  to  the 
subject  of  a  picture,  enlarging,  as  this  must  do,  its  associa- 
tions and  suggestions,  can  add  immensely  to  our  distinc- 
tively aesthetic  enjoyment.  In  what  consists  the  worth  of 
art  except  in  the  effects  that  it  arouses  in  the  emotions 
and,  through  them,  conjures  in  the  imagination?  But 
by  what  is  the  reach  of  imagination  determined,  except 
by  the  amount  of  information  present  in  the  mind  with 
reference  to  that  by  which  the  emotions  have  been 
influenced? — Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as 
Representative  Arts,  xv. 

INSPIRATION    ANT)    OBSERVATION,     BOTH    NEEDED    IN    ART. 

The  transcendentalists  of  New  England  who,  fifty  years 
ago,  were  exercising  the  most  pronounced  of  any  effect  upon 
the  art  and  literature  of  our  country  were  constantly  con- 
founding artistic  inspiration  with  religious  inspiration.  The 
tendency  of  this  mistake  was  not  only  to  minimize  in  re- 
ligion the  importance  of  the  spiritual,  because  this  was 
conceived  to  be  the  same  in  kind  as  the  distinctively  hu- 
man in  art;  but  to  minimize  in  art  also  the  importance 
of  the  material, — i.  e.,  of  the  material  product  as  given  form 
through  skill  in  technique, — because  the  whole  desired 
effect  was  conceived  to  be  attained,  as  in  religion,  by  merely 
giving  adequate  and  accurate  expression  to  the  results  of 
inspiration.  Emerson  himself,  not  only  in  his  practice  but 
in  his  theory,  almost  always  goes  astray  when  he  approaches 
this  subject  of  art-form.  On  the  other  hand,  the  followers 
of  the  French,  who,  during  the  last  twenty-five  years, 
have  occupied  in  our  country  the  position  formerly  occu- 
pied by  the  transcendentalists,  are  constantly  confounding 
artistic  observation  with  scientific  observation;  and  the 
tendency  of  their  influence  is  not  only  to  minimize  in 
science  the  importance  of  imaginative  hypothesis  as  a  pre- 
requisite for  the  discovery  of  great  underlying  principles, 
because  they  conceive  that  science  has  the  same  interest 
in  the  mere  appearances  of  nature  that  art  has;  but  to 
minimize  in  art  also  the  importance  of  imaginative  con- 
struction embodying  the  great  truths  of  analogy;  because 
they  suppose  the  end  to  be  attained  in  art,  as  in  science,  by 
an  accurate  study  of  the  facts  of  nature  as  they  are,  poems 
or  paintings  being  ranked  according  to  the  literal  fidelity 
with  which  they  recall  or  imitate  the  details  of  that  which 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  179 

has    been    observed. — The    Representative    Significance    of 
Form,   Preface. 

INSPIRATION,  ARTISTIC. 

Just  here,  in  fact,  we  come  upon  a  philosophic,  if  not 
scientific,  warrant  for  that  common  opinion,  so  often  held 
without  reasoning  and  expressed  without  discrimination, 
that  the  products  of  art  are  to  be  ascribed  to  what  is  termed 
inspiration.  When  we  have  traced  them  to  this  overflow 
at  the  very  springs  of  mental  vitality,  no  one  who  thinks 
can  fail  to  feel  that,  if  human  life  anywhere  can  come  into 
contact  with  the  divine  life,  it  must  be  here.  There  are 
reservoirs  behind  the  springs  of  the  mountain-streams. 
Are  there  none  behind  those  of  thought?  And  if  there  be, 
what  are  they  ?  The  answer  to  this  question  must  depend, 
of  course,  upon  the  general  character  of  one's  theologic  or 
philosophic  conceptions.  He  may  attribute  that  which  he 
calls  inspiration  directly  and  immediately  to  the  divine 
source  of  life.  Or,  recognizing  the  erroneous  nature  of  the 
forms  in  which  truth,  even  when  most  unmistakably  inspired, 
is  often  presented,  he  may  suppose  that  there  are  gradations 
of  intelligences  beyond  one's  ken  through  which,  even  before 
undergoing  subjection  to  human  limitations,  the  brightness 
of  the  divine  light,  in  order  to  become  attempered  to  the 
requirements  of  earthly  conditions,  loses  not  only  its  bril- 
liancy but  with  this  much  of  its  defining  power.  Or  he 
may  suppose  that  the  soul  itself  comes  into  the  world 
stored  with  forces  directly  created  for  it,  or  else  indirectly 
acquired  in  a  previous  existence  of  which  not  only  every 
otherwise  unaccountable  intuition  but  every  impulse  is  a 
consequence, — a  previous  existence,  which,  if  not  human 
and  personal,  may,  at  least,  have  existed  as  a  psychic  force 
developing  in  the  lower  orders  of  life  according  to  the 
laws  of  psychic  evolution  through  successive  physical 
forms,  themselves  developing  according  to  the  laws  of 
physical  evolution.  Or,  finally,  he  may  suppose  that  this 
reservoir  is  in  a  man's  own  subconscious  nature;  and  this, 
again,  he  may  suppose  to  be  either  psychical  or  physical. 
With  those  whose  tendencies  are  toward  idealism,  he  may 
deem  the  reservoir  to  be  the  receptacle  of  experiences  in 
his  present  state  of  existence,  stored  in  the  inner  mind 
with  all  their  attendant  associations  and  suggestions,  and, 
in  accordance  with  some  law,  surging  upward  in  order  to 
control  thought  and  expression  whenever,  as  in  dreams 


i8o  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

or  reveries,  or  abnormal  states  of  trance  or  excitation,  or 
merely  of  poetic  enthusiasm,  the  conscious  will,  for  any 
reason,  is  subordinated  to  the  impulse  coming  from  within. 
Or,  with  those  whose  tendencies  are  more  materialistic, 
he  may  consider  this  subconscious  nature  to  be  the  accu- 
mulated result  merely  of  that  which,  through  physical 
sensation,  has  come  to  be  stored  up  in  the  nerve-cells  and, 
in  circumstances  similar  to  those  just  mentioned,  aroused 
to  conscious  vitality  as  a  consequence  either  of  intense 
external  stimulation,  or  of  unusual  activity  in  the  nervous 
centres.  Whether  a  man  incline  to  the  acceptance  of  one 
of  these  theories,  or  of  a  combination  of  them;  however  he 
may  account  for  what  lies  in  the  realm  of  mystery  beyond 
the  art-impulse,  it  is  evident  that  the  theory  just  presented 
of  it  can  accord  with  every  possible  view.  That,  back  of  all 
conscious  intelligence,  there  is  an  unconscious  intelligence  of 
some  kind,  in  which  the  powers  of  memory  and  of  deduction 
are  well-nigh,  if  not  absolutely,  perfect,  the  phenomena  of 
accident,  disease,  and  hypnotism  seem  to  have  established 
beyond  all  question.  How,  otherwise,  could  men  with 
memories  naturally  weak  recall,  as  at  times  they  do,  in 
abnormal  conditions,  whole  conversations  in  a  foreign 
tongue  with  not  one  word  of  which  they  are  consciously  ac- 
quainted ?  Or  how  could  those  of  the  very  slightest  powers  of 
imagination  or  of  logic,  argue  for  hours,  when  in  such  states, 
with  superlative  brilliancy  and  conclusiveness?  Whatever 
be  the  final  explanation  of  these  facts,  in  themselves — as 
will  be  brought  out  clearly  in  the  volume  of  this  series  treat- 
ing of  the  nature  of  the  thought  that  can  be  represented  in 
art — they  cannot  now  be  doubted.  Behind  conscious 
mental  life,  sources  exist  of  intellectual  energy.  They  find 
expression  in  many  ways — in  the  words  and  deeds  of  ordi- 
nary people,  as  well  as  in  the  extraordinary  moods  and 
methods  of  prophets  and  reformers.  But  there  is  only  one 
department  of  activity  which  humanity  appears  to  have 
developed  for  the  special  purpose  of  giving  expression — if 
we  may  so  say,  of  consciously  giving  material  embodiment 
— to  that  which  has  its  source  in  these  subconscious  regions 
of  the  mind;  and  this  department  of  activity  is  art. — Art 
in  Theory,  vii. 

INSPIRATION,  INFLUENCED  BY  ARTISTS*  SURROUNDINGS. 

In  every  age,  of  course,  men  of  genius  are  prompted 
instinctively,  entirely  aside  from  any  knowledge  that  they 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  i8l 

may  have  of  aesthetic  laws,  to  recognize  and  embody 
aesthetic  effects.  But  where  are  such  men  who  fail  to  find 
themselves  surrounded  by  the  products  of  their  inferiors? 
and  who  is  able  wholly  to  resist  the  influence  of  these?  If 
it  be  true  that  art,  like  religion,  is  fountained  in  inspiration, 
it  is  true  also  that  different  sources  of  this  differ  in  quality; 
and  that  the  stream  which  flows  from  the  high  region  of 
the  masters  has  a  purity  not  characterizing  that  which 
rises  in  the  low  plane  of  their  imitators. — The  Genesis  of 
Art-Form,  Preface. 

INSPIRED,    THE,    AND  THE    ARTISTIC    {see   GENIUS). 

When  Mozart  was  three  years  old,  he  was  giving  con- 
certs attended  by  the  first  musicians.  When  he  was  eight, 
he  had  composed  a  symphony  containing  parts  for  a  com- 
plete orchestra.  We  ascribe  such  precocious  results  to 
genius.  But  suppose  that  .  .  .  after  practising  (like 
Beethoven)  five  or  six  hours  a  day  for  ten  or  fifteen  years, 
he  had  produced  the  same,  or  approximately  the  same, 
quality  of  music.  In  this  case,  we  should  have  said  that 
his  genius  had  been  rendered  able  to  express  itself  as  a 
result  of  his  having  acquired  skill.  .  .  .  We  should  recog- 
nize, too,  that  he  never  could  have  become  able  to  do  this, 
unless  that  which  he  had  studied  and  practised  had,  after 
a  time,  passed  from  a  region — so  to  speak — in  which  it 
needed  to  be  consciously  overlooked,  to  a  region  where  it 
could  be  overlooked  unconsciously.  No  man  ever  ac- 
quired the  skill  of  an  artist  until  he  could — automatically, 
as  it  were — read  printed  notes,  finger  them,  and  harmo- 
nize them,  while  reserving  all  his  conscious  energies  for  the 
expression  of  the  general  thought  and  emotion.  .  .  . 
When  a  man's  mind  has  naturally  a  tendency  to  act  in 
this  way,  we  term  him  a  genius ;  but  this  tendency  may 
be  greatly  developed  by  the  study  of  art.  In  fact,  it 
may  be  developed  in  some  cases  in  which  it  is  only 
latent.  Many  find  the  strongest  indication  of  the  ge- 
nius of  Henry  Ward  Beecher  in  his  marvelous  illustrative 
ability,  in  his  imaginative  facility  in  arguments  from  anal- 
ogy. He  himself,  in  his  "Yale  Lectures,"  says  that,  while 
in  later  life  it  was  as  easy  for  him  to  illustrate  as  to  breathe, 
he  did  not  have  this  power  to  any  such  extent  in  early 
manhood,  but  cultivated  it.  Now,  notice  the  inference  from 
what  has  just  been  said.     If  the  subconscious  powers  of 


i82  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

mind  that  every  man  possesses  operate  like  an  automatic 
machine,  producing  approximately  perfect  results  of  recol- 
lection, imitation,  illustration,  and — as  developed  from  the 
premise  submitted — of  logic,  then  the  problem  of  education 
is  how  to  cultivate  the  conscious  powers  of  the  mind  so  that 
they  shall  be  more  and  more  pliant  to  the  touch  of  subcon- 
scious influence,  and  thus  be  enabled  to  manifest  outwardly 
that  which  is  within  one.  The  problem  of  expres- 
sional  art  is  how  to  cultivate  the  conscious  agencies  of 
expression  so  that  they  shall  respond  automatically  to  the 
promptings  of  the  subconscious  agencies.  The  musician  has 
always  practically  solved  this  problem  when  he  is  pouring  his 
whole  soul  into  his  music,  unconscious  of  anything  but  the 
emotional  effect  that  he  desires  to  produce  upon  the  souls 
of  his  hearers.  The  sculptor  and  the  painter  have  alwaj^s 
solved  it,  when  they  are  projecting  into  line  and  color,  un- 
conscious of  being  hampered  by  any  thought  of  technique, 
that  picture  which  keen  observation  of  the  outer  world  has 
impressed  upon  their  conceptions.  The  poet  has  always 
solved  it,  when  he  has  lost  himself  in  his  theme,  uncon- 
scious of  anything  except  that  to  which  Milton  referred  in 
** Paradise  Lost,"  when  he  said  that  it 

"  Dictates  to  me  slumbering  or  inspires 
Easy  my  unpremeditated  verse." 

As  intimated  here,  this  state  in  which  thoughts  and  emotions, 
i.  e.y  mental  forms,  pass  from  the  inner  mind  into  external 
material  forms,  through  methods,  of  the  details  of  which,  at 
the  time  of  its  action,  the  mind  is  unconscious,  is  the  result 
of  what  we  sometimes  term  inspiration.  But  notice,  too, 
that  it  is  often,  even  in  cases  of  the  most  indisputable 
genius,  a  result,  in  part  at  least,  of  acquired  skill.  There- 
fore, the  inspirational  and  the  artistic  are  frequently  exactly 
the  same  in  effect. — Essay  on  the  Literary  Artist  and 
Elocution. 

INTONATIONS  VS.  ARTICULATIONS  IN  LANGUAGE. 

Whatever  may  be  true  of  words  used  separately,  it  is  a  fact 
that,  even  aside  from  the  conventional  meanings  ordinarily 
attached  to  them,  intonations,  such  as  can  be  given  only  in 
the  movements  of  consecutive  speech,  have  a  significance. 
When  Bridget,  according  to  a  familiar  story,  was  sent  to 
the  neighbors  to  inquire  how  old  Mrs.  Jones  was,  she 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  183 

emphasized  the  old,  and  paused  after  it,  and  so  gave  irrepar- 
able offence.  Her  tones  represented  an  idea  which  the  mere 
words  of  the  message  confided  to  her  had  not  been  intended 
to  convey. — Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art,  i. 

IRREGULARITY  IN  THE  HUMAN  COUNTENANCE    (see  also 

COUNTENANCE  and  regularity). 
This  statement  suggests  an  important  principle  of  art 
which  needs  to  be  noted  here.  It  is  that,  sometimes,  cer- 
tain requirements  of  form  have  to  be  waived  for  the  sake  of 
significance.  We  all  are  acquainted  with  this  fact  as  applied 
to  paintings  or  statues  containing  two  or  more  figures. 
We  often  see  one  of  these  made  positively  irregular  and 
ugly,  in  order  to  offset,  and  thus  enhance,  the  regularity 
and  beauty  of  the  others.  .  .  .  The  same  principle  is 
applicable  not  only  to  groups  of  faces  or  figures,  but,  in  each 
of  them,  to  groups  of  features.  Irregularities  in  certain  of 
these,  if  not  too  pronounced,  though  they  may  be  altogether 
too  decided  to  render  possible  any  method  of  supposing  them 
to  be  regular,  may  add  at  times  not  only  to  the  interest, 
but  even  to  the  charm  of  the  form  in  which  they  appear. 
Like  the  stronger  shading  of  a  line  or  color  that  changes  the 
apparent  condition  of  a  factor  for  the  purpose  of  emphasiz- 
ing it,  or  of  taking  emphasis  from  some  other  adjacent 
factor,  they  may  thrust  upon  attention  that  which  thus  inter- 
prets the  meaning  of  the  whole,  and  renders  it  in  the  highest 
sense  representative.  The  expression  of  mere  individuality 
alone  necessitates  having  no  two  forms  or  faces  in  the  world 
exactly  alike.  Yet  thousands  of  them  may  be  equally 
beautiful;  and  tens  of  thousands,  though  not  equally  beauti- 
ful, may  be  equally  attractive;  while,  to  the  student  of 
humanity,  none  can  fail  to  be  interesting. — Painting, 
Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,  vi. 

LABOR,  NEEDED  FOR  ART-EXCELLENCE. 

The  results  of  art  have  not  disproved  that  universal 
principle  according  to  which  the  degree  of  labor,  medi- 
ate or  immediate,  generally  measures  the  degree  of  worth. 
A  bountiful  exuberance  of  imagination  usually  accompanies 
abounding  information.  The  analogies  of  the  poet  are 
usually  most  natural  to  the  mind  that  has  made  the  most 
scrupulous  study  of  nature.  Truth,  comprehensiveness, 
and  greatness,  manifested  in  artistic  products,  are  usually 
crystallizations  of  the  accuracy,  breadth,  and  largeness  of 


lS4  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

the   formative   thought  occasioning   them. — Essentials  of 
Esthetics,  IV. 

LANDSCAPE  GARDENING,   ARTIFICIAL  AND  NATURAL 
EFFECTS  OF. 

Where  human  intellect  is  supposed  to  have  graded  the 
hillocks  and  cultivated  the  lawns,  neither  of  these  can 
appropriately  present  too  great  an  appearance  of  ruggedness 
or  unculture.  Lakes  that  are  acknowledged  to  be  the  results 
of  contrivance  should  not  seem  swamps,  nor  should  streams 
that  are  made  to  flow  into  them  seem  sluggish.  Trees 
that  have  been  transplanted  should  not  appear  illy  selected 
as  to  sizes,  nor  illy  arranged  as  to  groups  or  rows.  Walks 
that  every  one  knows  to  have  been  planned,  however  adroit- 
ly they  may  be  adjusted  to  the  conformations  of  the  land, 
should  never  violate  the  mathematical  laws  controlling  the 
formation  of  curves;  nor  should  flowers  that  have  been 
placed  in  beds  be  disposed  otherwise  as  to  sizes  and  colors 
than  in  a  manner  suited  to  produce  effects  that  are  aesthetic. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  artist,  while  striving  to  avoid  the 
tendency  just  mentioned,  can  scarcely  be  too  cautious  in 
his  endeavor  to  guard  against  infidelity  to  such  effects 
as  may  be  supposed  to  have  developed  naturally.  It  is 
possible  to  grade  the  land  so  that  the  outlines  and  positions 
of  mounds,  lawns,  and  lakes  shall  seem  too  much  the  pro- 
ducts of  design.  The  trees  may  be  too  nearly  of  a  size,  and 
arranged  with  too  great  regularity.  If  in  addition,  as  in 
some  French  gardens,  they  be  clipped  in  order  to  seem  uni- 
form, or  be  made  to  imitate  tents,  spires,  or  what-not  that  a 
man  may  fancy,  or  if  they  be  ranged  like  fence-poles  about 
walks  suggesting  nothing  but  a  square  and  compasses, 
or  stuck  into  the  edges  of  flower-beds,  wherein  all  the  colors 
are  as  carefully  matched  as  in  the  mats  of  a  French  parlor, 
then,  while  artifice  has  had  its  perfect  work,  nature  may 
seem  to  have  been  so  painfully  distorted  and  misrepresented 
that  the  result  has  been  the  death  of  her. — The  Representa- 
tive Significance  of  Form,  xxiv. 

Applying  these  ideas  to  landscape-gardening,  it  is  simply 
a  fact  recognized  by  all,  that  any  given  plot  may  be  so 
graded  and  laid  out  that  hills  and  valleys,  lawns  and  lakes, 
avenues  and  flower-beds,  shall  appear  to  be  the  results  of 
nature  as  much  as  of  artifice.  In  the  degree  in  which  such 
is  the  case,  landscape-gardens  may  be  said  to  suggest  effects 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  185 

in  time.  And  yet  if,  in  connection  with  these,  there  be 
no  evidences  that  the  results  perceived  were  contrived  and 
constructed  through  an  exercise  of  ingenuity  and  skill;  if, 
in  other  words,  there  be  no  evidences  of  a  human  mind 
which,  accepting  certain  natural  features  of  landscape  as 
developed  in  time,  has  given  unity  to  the  whole  in  space, 
and  this  as  a  result  of  thinking, — then  manifestly  the 
landscape  will  not  appear  artistic. — Idem. 

LANDSCAPE   GARDENING,    AS   INFLUENCED   BY  OTHER  ARTS. 

What  but  a  subtle  tendency  to  imitate  the  effects  of  draw- 
ing or  of  painting  could  lead  to  the  mathematical  straight- 
ness  or  stiffness  apparent  often  in  the  arrangements  of 
walks  and  plants,  and  of  outlines  in  artificial  ponds,  and  even 
of  forms  and  colors  in  flower-beds?  Or  what  but  a  con- 
founding of  this  art  with  sculpture  or  architecture  could 
result  in  that  which  so  offends  good  taste  in  many  gardens, 
— the  crowding  together  of  plaster  statues,  waterless  foun- 
tains, riverless  bridges,  and  arbors  whereon  the  sun  never 
shines,  clipped  out  and  bent  out  of  trees  that  would  have 
seemed  beautiful  if  only  left  in  their  natural  condition? 
No  wonder  that  they  appear  artificial! — Idem,  xxvii. 

LANGUAGE,  ARTISTIC,  NEEDS  CULTIVATING. 

At  a  recent  centennial  celebration  of  one  of  our  colleges,  a 
professorial  friend  of  mine  was  seated  next  to  a  scientist. 
They  were  listening  to  a  brilliant  speech  from  a  prominent 
clergyman.  The  scientist  was  to  follow.  Before  he  did  so, 
he  made  a  disparaging  remark,  indicating  that  he  felt  that 
he  should  be  commended  because  he  could  not,  and  would 
not,  attempt  anything  resembling  what  had  immediately 
preceded.  My  friend  in  repeating  his  remark  indicated 
that  he  also  agreed  with  the  scientist  in  this  self -commenda- 
tion. Neither,  apparently,  was  able  to  perceive  his  own 
limitations  sufficiently  even  to  regret  them.  ...  Is  it  neces- 
sary to  argue  that  when  such  sentiments  prevail  and  are 
expressed  by  those  who  desire  to  make  themselves  popular, 
no  great  efforts  will  be  expended  upon  the  methods  of  pre- 
senting thought;  and  if  so,  that  no  high  standards  will  be 
reached  in  the  spheres  peculiar  to  literature,  whether  of 
prose  or  of  poetry?  You  cannot  expect  art  to  be  mani- 
fested in  the  use  of  language  in  any  college  or  country 
where  there  is  general  disparagement  of  endeavors  to  make 
language  artistic. — Essay  on  Fundamentals  in  Education. 


i86  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

LANGUAGE,  AS   FORMED  INSTINCTIVELY  AND  REFLECTIVELY. 

The  earliest  sounds  made  by  a  babe  are  instinctive,  by 
which  is  meant,  that  they  are  allied  in  nature  to  expressions 
of  instinct,  due,  even  in  a  rational  being,  to  the  operation 
less  of  conscious  rationality  than  of  natural  forces  vitalizing 
all  sentient  existence.  These  instinctive  sounds  seem  to 
be  accepted  as  words  in  fulfilment,  mainly,  of  the  principle 
of  association.  The  child  cries  and  crows  while  the  mother 
hums  and  chuckles,  and  both  understand  each  other.  They 
communicate  through  what  may  be  termed  ejaculations 
or  interjections.  This  kind  of  language  is  little  above  the 
level  of  that  of  the  brutes;  in  fact,  it  is  of  the  same  nature  as 
theirs.  The  sounds  seem  to  have  a  purely  musctilar  or  nerv- 
ous origin ;  and  for  this  reason  may  be  supposed  to  have  no 
necessary  connection  with  any  particular  thought  or  psychic 
state  intended  to  be  expressed  by  them.  Nevertheless,  we 
all  understand  the  meanings  of  them  when  produced  by  the 
lower  animals,  as  well  as  when  made  by  man.  Everywhere, 
certain  ejaculations  are  recognized  to  be  expressive  of  the 
general  tenor  of  certain  feelings,  as  of  pleasure  and  pain 
desire  and  aversion,  surprise  and  fright.  This  fact  shows 
that  there  is  a  true  sense  in  which  these  utterances  are 
representative. 

The  principle  of  association  in  connection  with  the  use 
of  natural  exclamations  accounts  probably  for  the  origin 
not  only  of  actual  interjections,  but  of  other  sounds  also, 
like  the  sibilants,  aspirates,  and  gutturals,  giving  their 
peculiar  qualities  to  the  meanings  of  syllables  like  those 
in  shoo,  hist,  and  kick.  Some,  too,  think  that  it  accounts 
for  the  origin  of  words  like  is,  me,  and  that,  cognate  with 
the  Sanskrit,  as,  ma,  and  ta;  the  first  meaning  to  breathe, 
and  indicating  the  act  of  breathing;  the  second  closing 
the  lips  to  shut  off  outside  influence,  and  thus  to  refer  to 
self;  and  the  third  opening  the  lips  to  refer  to  others.  In 
the  same  way,  too,  because  the  organs  of  speech  are  so 
formed  that  the  earliest  articulated  sound  made  by  a  babe 
is  usually  either  mama  or  papa,  and  the  earliest  persons  to 
whom  each  is  addressed  are  the  mother  and  father,  people 
of  many  different  races  have  come  to  associate  mama, 
which,  as  a  rule,  is  uttered  first,  with  an  appeal  to  the 
mother,  and  papa  with  an  appeal  to  the  father. 

In  order,  however,  that  utterances  springing  from  exclam- 
ations may  be  used  in  language,  it  is  evident  that  men  must 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  187 

begin  to  imitate  them,  which  they  can  do  as  a  result  only 
of  comparison.  This  principle,  therefore,  as  well  as  that  of 
association,  must  have  been  closely  connected  with  the 
formation  of  the  earliest  words.  Ejaculations,  as  has  been 
said,  are  instinctive.  As  such,  they  come  first  in  the  order 
of  time.  The  imitations  of  them  with  the  purpose  of  mak- 
ing them  accepted  as  words  do  not  appear  till  the  reflective 
nature  begins  to  assert  itself  and  then  they  soon  extend  to 
the  reproduction  of  other  sounds  besides  ejaculations — 
sounds  that  are  representative  of  natural  effects  external  to 
man,  and  that  become  accepted  as  words  as  a  still  more 
immediate  result  of  comparison.  These  latter  sounds  are 
first  heard  when  the  child  is  led  to  notice  external  objects. 
Then,  unlike  the  animal  which  can  only  ejaculate,  but  just 
like  his  reputed  father  Adam,  the  first  who  had  a  reflective 
nature,  he  begins  to  give  names  to  these  objects,  or  to  have 
names  given  to  them  for  him  by  others.  These  names,  ac- 
cording to  the  methods  controlling  the  formation  of  nursery 
language,  are  always  based  upon  the  principle  of  imitation. 
Certain  noises  emanating  from  the  objects  designated, 
the  chick-chick  of  the  fowl,  the  tick-tick  of  the  watch,  the 
cuckoo  of  the  bird  over  the  clock,  the  how-wow  of  the  dog, 
and,  later,  the  clatter  of  the  rattle,  or  the  rustle  of  the  silk  or 
satin,  are  imitated  in  the  names  applied  to  them;  and 
this  imitative  element  enables  the  child  to  recognize  what 
the  object  is  to  which  each  name  refers.  The  existence 
of  hundreds  of  terms  in  all  languages,  the  sounds  of  which 
are  significant  of  their  sense,  like  buzz,  hiss,  crash,  slam, 
bang,  whine,  howl,  roar,  bellow,  whistle,  prattle,  twitter, 
gabble,  and  gurgle  (many  of  which  are  of  comparatively 
recent  origin),  is  a  proof  that  the  principle  of  imitation  is 
an  important  factor  in  the  formation  of  words. — Painting, 
Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,  i. 

LANGUAGE,    ITS    EARLIEST   FORM. 

This  theory,  that  the  very  earliest  words  were  ejacula- 
tory  and  imitative,  seems  to  accord  with  the  commonly 
accepted  view,  that  language  is  a  gift  from  God,  recogniz- 
ing it  to  be  so  in  the  sense  that,  whereas  beasts  and  birds 
are  endowed  with  the  power  of  representing  only  a  few 
sensations  through  a  few  almost  unvarying  sounds,  man 
can  represent  any  number  of  thoughts  and  emotions 
through  articulating  organs  capable  of  producing  almost 


i88  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

infinite  combinations  and  variations.  Place  two  human 
beings,  thus  constituted,  in  a  state  like  that  of  Eden,  and 
in  a  month's  time,  by  using  ejaculatory  and  imitative 
utterances,  and  mutually  agreeing,  as  they  necessarily 
would  do,  to  associate  certain  ideas  with  certain  of  these, 
they  would  form  a  primitive  language,  which  both  could 
understand;  and  a  number  of  their  words,  too,  would 
probably  not  be  wholly  dissimilar  in  either  sound  or  sense 
to  some  that  we  use  to-day. — Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art,  i. 

LANGUAGE,    PLAIN   AND  FIGURATIVE    (see  POETRY,    ITS   LAN- 
GUAGE, REPRESENTATION  IN  POETRY,  and  WORDS). 

Plain  language,  as  we  have  traced  it,  is  a  development  of 
the  instinctive  methods  of  expression  used  in  natural 
ejaculations.  These,  by  being  associated  with  the  circum- 
stances in  which  they  are  uttered,  come  to  be  used  as 
words;  and,  in  a  broad  way  of  generalizing,  there  is  a 
sense  in  which  all  words,  no  matter  how  originated,  when- 
ever they  come  to  mean  what  they  do  on  account  of  this 
principle,  can  be  put  into  this  class.  But  now,  if  we  think 
a  little,  we  shall  recognize  that,  from  the  moment  of  the 
utterance  of  the  first  ejaculation  to  the  use  of  the  latest 
sound  which  means  what  it  does  merely  because  conven- 
tionally associated  with  an  idea  to  which  it  stands  in  the 
relation  of  an  arbitrary  symbol,  the  tendency  exemplified 
is  a  desire  to  present  rather  than  to  represent  the  thought 
or  feeling. 

Just  the  contrary,  however,  is  true  of  figurative  lan- 
guage. We  have  traced  it  to  a  development  of  the  reflec- 
tive methods  of  expression  which  arise  when  one  hears  and 
imitates  for  a  purpose  the  sounds  about  him.  The  same 
tendency  is  carried  out  when  he  puts  these  sounds  together, 
after  they  have  become  conventional  words,  so  as  to 
represent  the  relations  between  the  sights  about  him,  as 
in  the  terms  express,  understand:  in  fact,  it  is  carried  out  in 
every  case  in  which  there  is  a  use  of  imaginative  or  figura- 
tive language.  This  latter  language,  then,  from  its  earliest 
source  to  its  utmost  development,  exemplifies  a  tendency 
to  represent  rather  than  merely  to  present  the  thought  or 
feeling. 

But  we  have  not  yet  reached  the  whole  truth  with  refer- 
ence to  the  matter.  It  must  be  remembered  that  thus  far 
we  have  been  dealing  mainly  with  single  words,  or  with  a 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  189 

few  of  them  arranged  in  single  sentences.  Each  of  these 
words  or  sentences  may  be  supposed  to  express  some  sin- 
gle phase  or  process  of  the  mind's  experiences.  But  to 
express  a  series  of  these  processes,  as  words  usually  do 
when  used  at  all,  we  need  a  series  of  words  and  sentences. 
Now  it  is  conceivable  that,  though  each  factor  of  the  series 
when  taken  by  itself  should  merely  present  some  single 
phase,  all  the  factors  when  taken  together  should  represent 
a  series  of  these  phases;  and  it  is  equally  conceivable  that 
though  each  factor  of  the  series  when  taken  by  itself  should 
represent  a  mental  phase,  all  the  factors  when  taken  to- 
gether should  merely  present  a  series  of  these  phases.  In 
other  words,  it  is  conceivable  that  owing  to  the  artistic  use, 
not  of  single  words  but  of  series  of  them,  plain  language 
should  represent  the  thought  and  feeling  (as  in  "Home 
they  brought  her  Warrior  "  in  Tennyson's  "  Princess  "), 
and  therefore  be  poetic;  and  it  is  equally  conceivable  that 
figurative  language  (as  in  oratory)  should  present,  and  there- 
fore be  prosaic;  prose,  so  far  as  it  is  determined  by  the 
mode  of  communicating  thought,  being  the  presentative 
form  of  that  of  which  poetry  is  the  representative. 

These  conditions  which  we  have  considered  conceiv- 
able, we  shall  find  to  be  true  in  fact;  and  for  this  reason 
poetic  methods  of  treating  a  subject  considered  as  a 
whole  must  be  judged,  precisely  as  was  said  in  another 
place  of  poetic  sounds,  by  the  degree  in  which  they  repre- 
sent the  thought  or  feeling  to  which  they  give  expression. 
Now  what,  in  the  last  analysis  must  determine  the  method 
of  the  communication? — what  but  the  method  in  which 
the  thought  itself  is  conceived  in  the  mind  of  the  writer? 
If  he  think  in  pictures,  his  words,  whether  or  not  pictur- 
esque or  figurative  in  themselves,  will  describe  pictures. 
Otherwise  they  will  not.  Moreover,  if  we  reflect  a  moment, 
we  shall  recognize  that  there  are  many  times  when  he  can 
think  in  pictures,  even  when  he  is  not  thinking  of  pictures; 
as,  for  instance,  when  he  is  impressing  a  truth  upon  the  mind 
through  using  a  story,  a  parable,  or  an  illustration,  as  we 
call  it.  In  this  case,  his  method,  if  it  accurately  convey 
to  us  that  which  is  passing  before  his  own  mind,  must  be 
representative,  and  not  merely  presentative. 

Accordingly  we  find,  when  we  get  to  the  bottom  of  our 
subject,  that  the  figurative  or  the  representative  element 
in  poetry  may  exist  in  the  conception  as  well  as  in  the 


I90  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHEKS  CABINET 

phraseology.  If  it  exist  in  only  the  conception,  we  have 
representation  in  plain  language,  or  direct  representation; 
if  in  the  phraseology,  by  which  is  meant  now  the  words  or 
expressions  illustrating  the  main  thought,  we  have  repre- 
sentation m  figurative  language,  or  illustrative  representation. 
If  all  the  significance  expressed  in  a  passage  be  represented, 
the  form  of  the  representation  will  in  this  work  be  termed 
pure;  if  a  part  of  the  thought  be  merely  presented,  the 
representation  will  be  termed  alloyed;  and  in  the  degree  in 
which  this  is  the  case,  it  will  be  shown  by  and  by  that  the 
whole  is  prosaic. 

Pure  representation  is  pictorial  in  character,  as  we  should 
expect  from  the  pictorial  tendency  of  which  we  have  found 
it  to  be  an  outgrowth,  and  its  methods  are  not  wholly  unlike 
those  of  painting.  When  composing  in  accordance  with 
them,  the  poet  indicates  his  thought  by  using  words  refer- 
ring to  things  that  can  be  perceived;  and  in  this  way  he 
causes  the  imaginations  of  those  whom  he  addresses  to  per- 
ceive pictures.  Alloyed  representation,  while  following  in 
the  main  the  methods  of  that  which  is  pure,  always  contains 
more  or  less  of  something  which  cannot  be  supposed  to  have 
been  perceived,  at  least  not  in  connection  with  circum- 
stances like  those  that  are  being  detailed.  For  this  reason, 
that  which  is  added  to  the  representation  is  like  alloy,  inter- 
fering with  the  pureness  and  clearness  of  the  pictures  pre- 
sented to  the  imaginations  of  those  addressed.  It  appeals 
to  them  not  according  to  the  methods  of  poetry,  but  of 
science  or  philosophy,  or  of  any  kind  of  thought  addressed 
merely  to  the  logical  understanding. 

The  distinction  between  pure  and  alloyed  representa- 
tion lies  at  the  basis  of  all  right  appreciation  of  poetic 
effects. — Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art,  xix. 

The  object  of  language  is  to  cause  others  to  share  our  men- 
tal processes,  to  communicate  to  them  the  substance  of 
our  ideas  and  their  associated  feelings.  In  doing  this,  it 
represents  both  what  a  man  has  observed  in  the  external 
world  and  what  he  has  experienced  in  his  own  mind — not 
in  either  the  one  or  the  other,  but  invariably  in  both  of  them. 
If  a  man,  for  instance,  show  us  a  photograph  of  something 
that  he  has  seen,  he  holds  before  our  eyes  precisely  what  has 
been  before  his  own  eyes;  but  if  he  describe  the  scene  in 
words,  he  holds  before  our  mind  only  those  parts  of  it  that 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  19I 

have  attracted  his  attention ;  and  not  only  so,  but  added  to 
these  parts  many  ideas  and  emotions  of  his  own  that  were 
not  in  the  scene  but  occurred  to  him  when  viewing  it. 

A  similar  added  element  from  the  man's  mind  accompan- 
ies every  endeavor  of  his  to  tell  what  he  has  heard,  or  even, 
at  some  other  time,  thought  or  felt.  From  these  facts,  it 
follows  that  the  aim  of  language,  so  far  as  this  can  be  deter- 
mined by  what  it  actually  and  necessarily  does,  is  to 
cause  the  same  effects  to  be  produced  in  the  hearer's  mind 
that  are  experienced  in  the  speaker's  mind.  Now  if  one, 
when  talking,  conceive  that  this  is  an  easy  aim  to  attain; 
that  what  he  has  heard  or  seen  or  thought  or  felt,  needs  only 
to  be  told  in  clear,  intelligible  phraseology,  in  order  to  pro- 
duce in  another  the  same  effects  as  in  himself,  then  he  will 
be  content  with  conventional  modes  of  expression;  he  will 
use  in  the  main  plain  language. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  a  man  conceive  that  the  end  at 
which  he  is  aiming  is  difficult  to  attain;  that  what  he  has 
heard,  or  seen,  or  thought,  or  felt,  either  on  account  of  its 
own  nature,  or  of  the  nature  of  those  whom  he  is  addressing, 
is  hard  for  them  to  realize  in  its  full  force,  and  with  all  its 
attendant  circumstances,  then,  as  his  object  is  to  convey  not 
merely  an  apprehension  but  a  comprehension,  both  complete 
and  profound,  of  that  of  which  he  has  to  speak,  he  will  dwell 
upon  it ;  he  will  repeat  his  descriptions  of  it ;  he  will  tell  not 
only  what  it  is,  but  what  it  is  like ;  in  other  words,  he  will  try 
to  produce  the  desired  effect,  by  putting  extra  force  into 
his  language,  and,  in  order  to  do  this,  inasmuch  as  the 
force  of  language  is  increased  by  becoming  representative, 
he  will  augment  the  representation  by  multiplying  his 
comparisons;  his  language  will  become  figurative.  It  will 
be  so  for  the  same  reason  that  the  language  of  a  savage 
or  a  child,  even  when  giving  utterance  to  less  occult  ideas, 
is  figurative, — because  he  feels  that  the  words  at  his  com- 
mand are  inadequate  to  express  or  impress  his  meaning 
completely. — Idem,  xviii. 

LAW,  ART  AS  SUBJECT  TO  {seC  also  MUSIC  AS  RELATED  TO 

law). 
In  the  degree  in  which  the  conclusions  reached  are  accu- 
rate, and  appeal  as  such  to  the  reader's  judgment,  it  will 
make  evident  that  the  effects  for  which  the  artist  seeks  are 
due  to  laws  that  operate  far  more  inflexibly  than  sometimes 


192  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

is  supposed;  it  will  suggest  that  originality,  while  wider  in 
its  scope  than  those  imagine  who  confound  the  methods  of 
the  master-artists  with  their  manner,  has  too  its  limits;  and 
it  will  reveal  beyond  a  doubt  why  many  works  of  so-called 
art  produced  to-day,  because  devoid  of  almost  every  ele- 
ment of  art,  can  never  be  of  permanent  interest,  as  well  as 
why,  for  reasons  just  the  opposite,  so  many  of  those  that  are 
now  the  classics  of  the  past  have  charms  that  never  can  be 
lost. — The  Genesis  of  Art- Form,  Preface. 

LIKE  WITH  LIKE  (see  dlso  comparison). 

Imagination  is  the  source  of  all  art-production.  When 
a  man  begins  to  find  in  one  feature  the  image  of  another, 
and,  because  the  two  are  alike,  to  put  them  together  by 
way  of  comparison,  then,  and  then  only,  does  he  begin  to 
construct  an  art-product.  And  not  only  so,  but  only  then 
does  he  continue  his  work  in  a  way  to  make  it  continue  to  be 
a  medium  of  expression.  The  forms  which  he  elaborates 
are  naturally  representative  of  certain  phases  of  thought 
or  feeling,  and  the  significance  of  the  completed  product 
depends  upon  its  continuing  to  represent  these  phases. 
But  it  can  continue  to  do  this  only  when  that  which  is 
added  in  the  process  of  elaboration  is  essentially  like 
that  with  which  the  process  starts.  ...  As  a  fact,  however, 
no  two  things  are  alike  in  all  regards;  and  the  mind  must 
content  itself  with  putting  together  those  that  are  alike 
in  some  regards. — The  Genesis  of  Art- Form,  ii. 

literary,  a  term  applied  to  pictures  {see  also  explana- 
tions and  information). 
Suppose  that,  for  the  reason  which  Lessing  gave  when 
he  said  that  it  should  present  only  that  which  could  be 
perceived  at  one  time,  or  for  any  other  reason,  the  pic- 
ture is  not  able  to  interpret  itself.  Then  it  needs  an  expla- 
nation. Such  an  explanation  is  necessarily  made  in  words, 
and,  often,  in  printed  words.  Words,  whether  printed  or 
not,  are  the  substance  of  literature.  A  painting  which 
cannot  be  of  interest  until  one  is  made  acquainted  with 
the  literature  of  the  subject,  until  one  has  read  or  heard 
the  words  of  a  story  which  it  is  supposed  to  illustrate — • 
what  is  this? — What,  but  a  painting  which  may  be  said 
to  owe  its  interest  to  literature;  and  in  this  sense  a  paint- 
ing that  is  "literary.".  .  .  The  term  *'Hterary,"  as  one  of 
disparagement,  is  rightly  applied  to  pictures  that  need  to  be 


Church  of  St.  Mark,  Venice 


!"■  1.^1 -J  8  ■-^WiSi  ^  5_-"  •-;••'•-: -\-^"--:--^^»i^»|TnM|ff 


Old  Picture  of  St.  Sophia,  Constantinople 
See  pages  q,  io,  1$,  IQ,  73^  Si-8s,  89,  91,  223-225,  316,  385 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  193 

interpreted  by  a  verbal  story;  in  other  words  to  pictures  that 
do  not  represent  their  own  story.  But  is  this  what  is  meant 
by  those  who,  in  our  own  time,  most  use  the  term?  No; 
but  often  the  opposite.  The  term  is  applied  to  pictures  that 
do  represent  their  own  story;  and  because  they  do  this. 
Thus  a  deduction  from  Lessing's  principle  is  made  in  order 
to  disparage  the  very  kind  of  pictures  that  he  would  have 
commended.  Nor  is  it  the  first  time  that  inability  to  inter- 
pret the  spirit  of  a  law  beneath  the  letter  of  it  has  caused 
the  disciples  of  a  master  to  suppose  themselves  to  be  fol- 
lowing his  lead,  when  they  are  going  in  diametrically  the 
opposite  direction. — Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture 
as  Representative  Arts,  xiii. 

Human  minds,  as  a  rule,  have  so  narrow  an  outlook  that 
they  can  be  depended  upon  to  snatch  a  half-truth,  if  possible, 
and  use  it  as  a  weapon  against  the  whole  truth.  Whatever 
may  have  been  the  case  in  the  past,  an  artist  at  the  present 
time  cannot  compose  upon  the  theory  that  significance  is 
essential  to  the  highest  excellence  in  art  without  being 
stigmatized  by  certain  critics  as  "literary";  nor  can  he 
compose  upon  the  theory  that  imitative  skill  is  essential  to 
the  highest  excellence  without  being  stigmatized  by  cer- 
tain other  critics  as  being  "a  mere  technicist. " 

Of  course,  in  some  cases  the  use  of  these  designations 
is  appropriate;  and,  in  all  cases,  it  is  easy  to  trace  their 
genesis,  and  find  some  justification  for  them.  To  inveigh 
against  the  literary  tendency  in  this  art  is  a  perfectly  nat- 
ural reaction  against  an  attempt  on  the  part  of  certain 
English  and  German  artists  of  the  early  part  of  the  last  cen- 
tury, like  West  and  Overbeck,  not  only  to  revive  religious 
symbolic  and  allegoric  painting,  but  to  do  this,  apparently, 
upon  the  supposition  that  a  subject  capable  of  being  made 
impressive  by  an  elaborate  explanation,  or  story  indi- 
cating its  intention,  can  compensate  for  an  indifferent 
style,  an  idea  subsequently  developed  by  the  English  Pre- 
Raphaelites  and  in  the  genre  pictures  of  the  followers  of  Von 
Schadow  at  Dusseldorf.  On  the  other  hand,  to  inveigh 
against  exclusive  attention  to  technique  is  an  equally 
natural  reaction  against  the  exceedingly  tame  and  unim- 
aginative effects  produced  by  mere  imitation,  such  as 
we  find  in  many  of  the  French  pictures.  No  amount  of 
care  expended  upon  the  portrayal  of  tint  or  texture  in 
foliage,  clothing,  or   flesh  can  satisfy  the  artistic  ideals 

X3 


194  ^^  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

of  certain  minds.  They  refuse  to  admit  that  great  art 
can  ever  result  from  any  possible  elaboration  of  small 
subjects. — Idem,  xii. 

LITERARY    STYLE    IN    ART-CRITICISM. 

That  which  was  undertaken  in  these  volumes  did  not  seem 
to  permit  of  a  method  that  might  have  proved  far  more 
pleasurable  both  for  author  and  for  reader.  How  can 
one  get  down  to  the  roots  of  anything,  so  long  as  he  persists 
in  making  his  chief  aim  the  enjoyment  of  its  flowers?  Our 
libraries  are  full  of  treatises  upon  art  appealing  to  the 
imagination.  The  series  of  volumes  which  this  concludes 
has  been  intended  to  appeal  to  the  understanding.  We 
may  exercise  imagination  and  go  astray,  in  case  we  fail  to 
exercise  the  understanding  also.  But  so  long  as  we  are 
really  using  the  latter,  whether  as  artists  or  critics,  we  are 
much  less  likely  to  go  astray,  however  imaginative.  To 
understand  a  subject  completely,  one  must  be  led  to  analyze 
it,  and  to  perceive  its  minutest  details.  Details  that  are 
minute  require  minuteness  in  presentation.  Your  small 
matter  may  be  as  effectually  lost  in  generalities  of  style 
as  a  needle  in  a  dust-heap.  Or,  as  applied  to  considerations 
of  a  broader  character,  one  cannot  manifest  the  coolness 
needed  in  a  philosophic  presentation,  through  a  manner 
aglow  with  the  heat  of  fancy;  nor  accurately  balance  prin- 
ciples in  the  scale  of  argument,  when  allowing  either  side 
of  it  to  be  borne  up  or  down  by  a  bias  of  sentiment. — 
Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color,  xxvi. 

LITERATURE  AND  SERIOUS  THOUGHT. 

"From  time  to  time, "  says  Oscar  Wilde,  **the  world  cries 
out  against  some  charming,  artistic  poet,  because,  to  use  its 
hackneyed  and  silly  phrase,  he  has  'nothing  to  say.'  It  is 
just  because  he  has  no  new  message  that  he  can  do 
beautiful  work."  Think  of  the  literary  prospects  of  a  country 
or  of  the  world;  of  the  possibility  of  its  receiving  any 
inspiring  impulses  from  its  poets  at  a  period  when  new 
authors,  writing  with  the  acknowledged  motives  of  Dante, 
Milton,  or  Wordsworth,  would,  for  this  and  for  no  other 
reason,  fail  to  commend  themselves  to  the  leaders  of  literary 
opinion ! — Essentials  of  Esthetics,  v. 

LYRIC  {see  also  dramatic,  epic,  realistic). 
A  lyric  represents  a  movement  imparted  to  the  thoughts, 
but,  unlike  the  condition  in  a  melody,  the  thoughts  of  the 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  195 

lyric  appear  in  definite  form.  It  is  these  thoughts  that, 
according  to  their  order  of  sequence,  reveal  the  tendency 
which  impels  them. — Art  in  Theory,  xvii. 

LYRIC    CRY. 

The  term  lyric  cry  is  often  used  by  critics.  What  does 
this  indicate  except  a  recognition  that,  in  this  form  of  poetry, 
the  soul,  as  in  the  case  of  one  crying  out  in  excitement,  is 
over-mastered  by  the  impulse  from  within.  Yet  there  is 
little  suggestion  that  the  thought  or  emotion,  as  in  the  epic 
condition,  is  absolutely  too  great  to  be  adequately  expressed. 
There  is  often  a  suggestion  of  the  opposite.  Judging  of  the 
persons  who  cry  loudest,  and  of  the  circumstances  in  which 
they  do  so,  it  might  be  argued  that  this  form  of  expression, 
as  a  rule,  exaggerates  the  amount  and  quality  of  the  experi- 
ence; and  this  is  the  condition  in  dramatic  art. — The  Repre- 
sentative Significance  of  Form,  xix. 

LYRIC   POETRY    {sCC   VERSE   AN   ELEMENT). 

^  Just  as,  through  a  few  outlines,  a  good  draughtsman  gives 
us  a  conception  of  a  whole  form,  so  the  lyric  poet,  through 
a  few  words,  gives  us  a  conception  of  a  whole  series  of 
scenes  or  events.  But  in  the  lyric  these  few  words  do 
more  than  represent,  as  in  realistic  art,  what  exists  or  may 
be  supposed  to  exist.  They  create  something  that  with- 
out them  would  not  exist.  They  give  apprehensible  form 
to  impressions  made  upon  thought  and  feeling.  .  .  .  The 
aesthetic  interest  awakened  by  the  following  is  an  interest 
not  in  any  great  idea  illustrated  nor  in  successive  events 
accurately  detailed,  but  in  the  form  which  the  writer  has 
constructed  in  order,  through  it,  to  represent  the  particu- 
lar character  of  the  emotional  effects  which,  owing  to  his 
own  poetic  sensibilities,  he  himself  has,  or  may  be  sup- 
posed to  have,  experienced. — Idem. 

MODELS,  HUMAN,  AND   THEORIES    OF    PROPORTION    {see   also 
OBSERVATION  VS.  THEORY,  and  SCULPTURE,  GREEK). 

It  is  impossible  to  find  rules  for  guidance  which,  as  used 
in  particular  cases,  do  not  constantly  need  to  be  authenti- 
cated and  modified  by  the  facts  that  can  be  learned  from 
studying  models.  All  art  is  the  representation  of  nature. 
The  art  that  portrays  human  nature  represents  that  which 
is,  presumably,  the  highest  embodiment  of  creative  intelli- 
gence. A  man  who  tries,  after  no  matter  how  faithful  a 
study  of  the  human  form  in  general,  to  create  such  a  form 


196  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

de  novo,  is  in  danger  of  representing  his  own  conceptions  to 
the  detriment  both  of  nature  and  of  that  creative  intelli- 
gence which  gives  human  nature  its  highest  significance. 
As  indicated  on  page  89,  a  knowledge  of  proportion  can 
do  little  more  than  enable  an  artist,  in  the  presence  of 
models,  to  select  for  portrayal  features  that  are  beautiful, 
and,  where  these  are  combined  with  such  as  are  not,  to 
avoid  copying  the  latter,  or,  if  he  must  regard  them,  then, 
as  a  result  of  observation  and  experience,  to  correct  their 
defects.  To  do  this  last  satisfactorily,  however,  or  even 
to  choose  a  model  wisely,  requires  that  an  artist's  judgment 
should  be  regulated  by  some  correct  general  theory.  .  .  . 
Such  a  theory  may  afford  equal  aid,  too,  when  one  is  called 
upon  to  form  practical  or  theoretical  judgments  with  refer- 
ence to  mere  posture.  .  .  .  There  is  no  doubt  that,  when 
limbs  are  arranged  so  that  their  combined  outlines  suggest 
these  like  curves,  the  effect  of  beauty  is  enhanced  on  account 
largely  of  their  influence  in  producing  effects  not  only  of 
harmony  of  outline,  but  of  proportion. — Proportion  and 
Harmony  of  Line  and  Color,  viii. 

MORALITY,  AS  INFLUENCED  BY  ANY  ART. 

The  novel,  the  drama,  the  painting,  the  statue, — all  re- 
port, with  more  or  less  interpretative  additions,  that  which 
keen  observers  have  been  able  to  perceive,  and  to  reproduce. 
The  legitimate  effect  of  their  work  is  to  enlarge  the  experi- 
ence of  others  who  have  not  had  the  same  opportunity,  or 
the  same  ability  to  avail  themselves  of  it,  that  they  them- 
selves have  had.  Whoever  enlarges  another's  experience 
imparts  not  only  information,  but,  with  it,  something  of 
that  wisdom  which  expresses  itself  in  intelligent  action. 
Of  course  much  depends,  as  has  already  been  intimated, 
upon  the  artist  through  whose  mediumship  the  wider 
experience  has  been  imparted.  He  is  like  a  showman 
who  may  throw  upon  a  screen  whatever  sort  of  picture 
he  may  select.  At  the  same  time,  in  making  his  selection, 
he  can  scarcely  fail  to  be  influenced  by  another  fact.  It  is 
this, — that  only  in  the  degree  in  which  men  conceive  that 
his  thought  when  assuming  form  in  art  is  in  harmony  with 
thought  when  assuming  form  in  nature,  do  they  conceive 
him  to  be  influenced  by  the  spirit  in  nature  to  such  an  extent 
as  to  term  him  inspired.  Is  there  any  great  artist  who  does 
not  wish  to  have  his  work  considered  to  be  of  this  character? 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  197 

Or,  if  an  artist  be  not  great,  does  he  not  try,  at  least,  to 
imitate  those  who  are  so,  and  prefer  to  be  considered  of  their 
class  ?  If  both  these  questions  can  be  answered  in  the  affirm- 
ative, then  it  must  be  true  that,  practically,  in  the  majority 
of  cases,  the  forces  that  are  working  in  nature,  as  most  of 
us  believe,  for  the  enlightenment  and  uplifting  of  man  will 
continue  to  be  influential  in  directing  toward  the  same  ends 
the  developments  of  art. — Essay  on  Art  and  Morals. 

Nothing  influences  the  general  conceptions  of  a  com- 
munity more  than  the  specific  conceptions  suggested  by 
what  seems  true  of  its  art.  This  cannot  manifest  disre- 
gard of  law  without  cultivating  more  or  less  disregard  of 
the  same  in  life,  whether  individual,  social,  political,  or 
religious.  There  is  a  connection  between  thinking  that 
anybody,  without  any  guidance  of  rules,  can  write  a  suc- 
cessful poem,  or  build  a  successful  house,  and  fancying  that 
a  promoter  on  Wall  Street  can  disregard  the  financial  laws 
of  the  street,  and  not  do  something  toward  bringing  on  a 
financial  panic;  or  that  a  lady  of  the  "Four  Hundred"  can 
turn  her  back  upon  her  poor  relations,  violating  thus  the 
laws  of  both  humanity  and  hospitality,  and  not  do  some- 
thing toward  making  them  turn  their  backs  upon  her,  even 
to  the  extent,  possibly,  of  causing  them  to  enlist  for  a  social- 
istic revolution ;  or  that  a  statesman,  trusting  to  his  own  per- 
sonal popularity  or  eloquence,  can  ignore  the  laws  of 
diplomacy  and  the  enactments  of  his  predecessors,  and  not 
do  something  to  endanger  the  peace  and  procperity  of  his 
country;  or  that  a  leader  in  the  Church,  under  the  impres- 
sion that  all  that  religion  needs  can  be  developed  from  his 
own  unaided  self -consciousness,  can  break  away  from  the 
laws  of  form  or  purpose  embodying  the  historic  results 
of  the  spiritual  life  of  the  past,  and  not  do  something  to 
develop  from  himself  the  very  evils  that  religion  and  its 
methods  are  intended  to  prevent. — Essay  on  Music  as 
Related  to  Other  Arts. 

Art  is  one  thing,  and  morality  is  another  thing.  A  statue, 
a  picture,  a  drama,  or  a  dance,  may  be  immoral  in  its 
influence,  and  yet  artistic.  But,  in  this  case,  it  is  seldom 
artistic  in  every  one  of  its  features.  If  it  were,  people 
would  not  speak  of  it,  as  some  invariably  do,  when  referring 
to  products  of  this  character,  as  "lacking  in  good  taste." — 
Essay  on  Art  and  Morals. 


198  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

MORALITY,  AS    INFLUENCED   BY  ARCHITECTURE   866  alsO   AR- 
CHITECTURE, EXPRESSIVE  OF  CHARACTER  and  SKYSCRAPERS). 

Are  there  any  ethical  relations  of  architecture:  and  if  so, 
are  moral  principles  exemplified  in  it?  Both  questions  can 
be  answered  in  the  affirmative.  Consider,  for  instance, 
the  modern  skyscraper, — the  apartment  house,  hotel,  or 
office  building  containing  twenty  or  thirty  stories.  Sociolo- 
gists point  out  how  objectionable  it  is  morally,  as  used 
in  residence  districts,  either  for  irrepressible  children  who 
need  more  companions  out  of  doors,  or  for  disaffected 
parents  who  need  fewer  of  them  indoors;  and  how  objec- 
tionable physically,  as  used  in  business  districts,  because 
depriving  thousands  of  sunlight  and  fresh  air,  and  increasing 
the  nervous  strain  of  life  by  crowding  streets  and  street- 
cars, and  adding  to  the  labors  of  business,  the  greater 
labor  of  trying  to  get  in  safety,  comfort,  and  health,  despite 
lungs  almost  suffocated,  to  and  from  one's  home.  But, 
long  before  the  sociologist  had  thought  of  these  results,  the 
artist  had  realized  the  beauty  of  a  uniform  skyline,  as  in  the 
streets  of  Paris  and  the  Court  of  Honor  at  the  Chicago 
Exposition ;  and  had  recognized  as  well  the  inexcusable  les- 
sening in  value,  because  of  depreciation  in  effectiveness,  of 
every  building  that  another  adjoining  it  is  allowed  to  over- 
top. So  one  might  go  on  and  give  to  the  principle  thus 
illustrated  almost  universal  applicability. — Essay  on  Art 
and  Morals. 

MORALITY,  AS  INFLUENCED  BY  DRAMAS  (5^^  PLAY,  DRAMATIC). 

As  for  the  other  criterion,  namely,  that  art  should  point 
a  moral,  this  is  accurate  so  far  as  it  goes ;  and  yet  at,  imita- 
tive art,  must  do  more  than  point  a  moral.  Its  nature  is 
that  of  representation,  not  reasoning;  it  presents  a  picture 
to  be  perceived,  not  a  problem  to  be  solved;  and  the  repre- 
sentation, the  picture,  not  the  reasoning  or  the  solution,  is 
that  in  it  which  is  of  supreme  importance. — The  Represen- 
tative Significance  of  Form,  xv. 

MORALITY,  AS  INFLUENCED  BY  POETRY. 

Very  often  passages  like  this  merely  add  to  the  impres- 
siveness  of  the  picture  conjured  before  the  imagination, 
and  are  distinctly  within  the  limits  of  an  appeal  to  senti- 
ment. For  this  reason,  though  having  much  to  do  both 
with  influencing  conduct  and  imparting  information,  they 
are  legitimate  to  art,  because  subordinated  to  its  aims. 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  199 

This  is  a  fact  important  to  recognize.  Indeed,  the  failure 
to  recognize  it  is  one  of  the  artistic  mistakes  of  our  own 
age;  and  is  doing  more  than  any  other,  perhaps,  to  pre- 
vent art  from  attaining  the  rank  due  to  it,  as  a  great  in- 
strumentality for  the  betterment  of  humanity.  In  the 
criticisms  in  our  papers — often,  owing  to  an  affectation  of 
aesthetic  knowledge,  in  our  religious  papers, — one  finds 
an  almost  universal  tendency  to  discount,  and  for  this 
reason  solely,  poetry,  painting,  and  statuary  that  give  any 
marked  evidence  of  being  the  product  of  an  earnest,  ethi- 
cal, or  religious  nature.  One  reason — though,  of  course, 
not  by  any  means  the  sole  reason — why  certain  of  our 
greater  as  well  as  minor  pessimistic  poets,  whose  influence 
is  anything  but  inspiring,  are  so  lavishly  praised,  is  because 
they  give  so  few  indications  of  having  such  a  nature; 
and  it  is  certain  that  many  critics  of  the  drama  would 
think  twice  before  imperiling  their  reputation  by  object- 
ing to  a  really  artistically  constructed  play  merely  because 
of  its  immoral  tendency.  Yet  what  can  be  more  thor- 
oughly unphilosophical  than  to  gauge  artistic  ability  and 
taste  by  an  absence  of  those  traits  which,  in  ordinary 
life,  give  a  man  not  only  character  but  common  sense? — 
Idem. 

MORALITY,  AS  INFLUENCING  ART. 

We  respect  a  moral  man  who  is  a  boor;  but  when  there 
is  enough  of  aesthetics  in  him  to  make  him  also  a  gentleman, 
we  admire  him,  and  strive  to  imitate  him.  We  tolerate 
earnest  reformers  who,  in  rowdy  mobs,  boisterously  insult 
all  who  differ  from  them;  but  most  of  us  connect  ourselves 
with  such  leaders  only  as  do  their  work  "decently  and 
in  order, "  in  places  where  they  have  more  or  less  of  refine- 
ment in  their  surroundings.  Why  cannot  this  rule  be 
reversed,  and  art  be  bettered  by  its  moral  quality? — 
Essay  on  Art  and  Morals. 

Wherever  there  is  anything  human,  there,  too,  exists 
the  possibility  of  immorality.  Art  is  intensely  human. 
But  just  as  the  best  type  of  humanity  is  distinctly  moral, 
so  it  is  with  the  best  type  of  art.  To  this  rule,  dramatic 
art  furnishes  no  exception.  Nor,  for  a  similar  reason,  does 
that  of  the  romance  or  the  novel. — Idem. 

Art,  as  a  pleasurable  result,  may  appeal  in  a  pleasurable 
way  to  a  man's  whole  nature;  and  nothing  can  do  this  that, 


20O  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

in  any  degree,  shocks  and  repels  him  because  recognizing 
it  to  have  an  impure  and  harmful  influence  upon  thought, 
feeling,  or  conduct. — Idem. 

MUSIC,    AND    ITS   TEACHER. 

There  are  certain  principles  essential  to  the  very  existence 
of  every  other  higher  art,  as  at  present  developed,  which  are 
traceable  to  music  alone ;  and  no  esthetic  influence  tends  so 
decidedly  as  that  which  it  exerts  to  keep  alive,  in  any  de- 
partment of  culture,  either  a  realization  in  theory  or  an 
actualizing  in  experience  of  such  effects  as  those  of  law,  thor- 
oughness, accuracy,  practise,  drill,  pleasure  in  work,  or  per- 
sonality in  presentation.  If  what  has  been  said  be  true,  then 
the  music-teacher  stands  in  the  very  front  ranks  of  those 
who  are  leading  the  armies  of  culture.  Without  what  he, 
and  he  alone,  is  fitted  to  contribute,  no  department  of  that 
army  can  be  fully  equipped,  and  all  the  departments  to- 
gether may  fail  of  their  purpose. — Essay  on  Music  as 
Related  to  Other  A  rts. 

MUSIC,  AS  AFFECTING  POSTURE. 

Not  until,  at  least,  the  rhythm  of  music — to  say  nothing 
of  its  tune — began  to  affect  the  human  nerves,  did  the  man 
begin  to  dance,  and  not  until  he  began  to  dance,  did  his 
arrested  attitudes  begin  to  emphasize  those  effects  of  grace 
which,  perhaps,  most  clearly  differentiate  the  portrait  from 
the  snap-shot  photograph  and  the  genre  painting  from 
the  portrait.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say,  therefore,  that 
some  lessons  learned  from  the  influence  of  music  upon  the 
human  form  are  illustrated  in  almost  all  pictures  and 
statues,  whether  considered  as  ends  in  themselves,  or  as 
ornamenting  architecture. — Idem. 

The  underlying  significance  of  all  straight  lines,  angles, 
and  curves,  whenever  or  wherever  seen,  is  subtly  con- 
nected with  the  expressional  uses  of  the  same  in  the  poses 
assumed  by  the  various  limbs  of  the  human  body.  Man 
is  so  limited  in  outlook,  so  self-centered  in  insight,  that  he 
is  obliged  to  interpret  not  only  God  but  all  nature  and  its 
manifestations  in  accordance  with  his  own  experience 
and  actions.  So,  indirectly,  the  same  strains  of  music  that 
cause  dancing,  and  thus  tend  to  the  exhibition  of  graceful- 
ness in  the  human  form,  have  an  influence  on  the  artistic 
qualities  of  other  of  the  visible  forms  that  become  subjects 
of  art-production. — Idem, 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  201 

MUSIC  AS  RELATED  TO  LAW. 

The  mightiest  master  of  melody  and  harmony  who,  as 
he  composes,  seems  to  lose  all  consciousness  of  restraint 
and  to  give  vent  to  absolutely  untrammeled  promptings 
of  inspiration,  is  not  one  who  has  risen  above  the  control 
of  rules.  He  is  one  who  has  studied  and  practised  in 
accordance  with  them  so  assiduously  that  not  one  cell  in 
his  brain  can  forget  them,  or  break  from  the  habit  of  ful- 
filling them,  Every  musical  non-conductor  has  been,  by 
repeated  effort,  expelled  not  only  from  his  conscious  but 
from  his  unconscious  mind.  Every  nerve  in  his  being 
vibrates  to  the  touch  of  harmony,  and  vibrates  according 
to  law. — Idem. 

MUSIC,    CHARACTER   OF    ITS    INFLUENCE. 

Music  furnishes  perhaps  the  best  possible  illustration 
of  a  fact  noticed  to  be  true  universally  whenever,  rising 
above  purely  physical  conditions,  we  come  to  consider 
forces  fitted  to  affect  the  mind  and  soul, — the  fact,  that  it 
is  of  more  importance  to  influence  the  substance  of  thought 
than  the  form  of  thoughts;  of  more  importance  to  aim  for 
something  giving  direction  to  sentiment  than  definiteness 
to  statement;  in  short,  that  the  most  profound  and  lasting 
effect  upon  experience  is  exerted  in  connection  with  that 
which,  at  the  same  time,  allows  the  greatest  freedom  to 
expression.  This  principle  is  illustrated  more  or  less  in  all 
the  arts.  Otherwise  they  would  not  merely  represent  what 
they  have  to  express;  in  direct  form  they  would  present  it. 
But  the  principle  is  especially  noticeable  in  music;  and  for 
this  reason,  probably,  the  production  of  it  is  mentioned  so 
often  in  the  Bible  in  order  to  describe  symbolically  the 
employment  of  heaven.  Other  arts,  by  words,  shapes,  or 
colors,  confine  thought  to  some  extent;  indicating,  as  they 
do  in  no  unmistakable  way,  that  of  which  one  should  think. 
Not  so  with  music.  It  may  hold  the  feelings  of  a  multitude 
in  absolute  control;  yet,  at  the  same  time,  it  may  leave 
each  individual  absolutely  free  to  think  the  thought  and 
to  do  the  deed  that  is  prompted  by  his  individual  instincts. 
— Art  in  Theory,  xviii. 

The  most  powerful  mental  agency  perhaps  is  music. 
To  those  who  can  appreciate  it,  it  can  bring  joy  or  sadness, 
smiles  or  tears,  long  after  every  other  influence  has  ceased 
to  affect  the  feelings.     Yet  music  is  the  most  intangible 


202  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

and  spiritual  of  all  the  arts.  There  is  nothing  to  see  as  in 
sculpture,  no  movement  to  animate  as  in  oratory,  no  words 
to  inspire  as  in  poetry.  One  hears  sounds  only;  and  these 
vague  sounds  are  so  powerful  that  a  man  may  be  thrilled 
through  and  through  with  .  .  .  whatever  thoughts  of  joy 
or  of  sadness  may  be  nearest  to  the  heart  of  the  man  who  is 
under  its  control.  The  same  strains  may  affect  differently 
the  experience  of  every  one  who  listens  to  them.  It  may 
make  a  child  think  of  his  play,  a  youth  of  his  school,  a 
merchant  of  his  business. — Suggestions  for  the  Spiritual  Life^ 
II. 

Yet,  with  all  this,  it  would  be  an  error  to  think  that  the 
mental  influence  of  the  art  is  slight.  The  story  of  the  men 
hired  to  assassinate  Stradella,  who,  after  listening  to  his 
oratorio  in  Rome,  dropped  their  weapons  and  became 
the  saviours  of  his  life,  is  only  one  story  of  a  thousand 
evincing  men's  belief  to  the  contrary. —  Essentials  of 
^Esthetics,  vii. 

MUSIC,   DRAMATIC. 

His  (Wagner's)  method  was  first  to  associate  a  motive 
with  some  person,  object,  action,  or  event;  and  afterward, 
whenever  that  with  which  it  was  associated  appeared  upon 
the  stage  or  was  suggested  by  the  language,  thought,  feelings, 
or  situations,  the  motive  itself  was  introduced  into  either 
the  melody  of  the  voice  or  the  harmony  of  the  instrumen- 
tation. Not  only  so,  but  a  certain  correspondence  was 
musically  indicated  between  the  way  in  which  this  was 
introduced  and  the  relations  of  the  person,  object,  action,  or 
event  to  the  circumstances  attendant  upon  its  introduction. 

This  method,  to  those  who  have  familiarized  them- 
selves with  the  motives,  causes  an  opera  of  Wagner  to  have 
a  double  effect:  first,  the  ordinary  musical  effect  which  is 
due  to  the  development  of  the  melodies  and  harmonies 
for  their  own  sakes;  and,  second,  the  intellectual  effect 
which  is  due  to  connecting  each  of  these  motives  with 
that  which  it  suggests,  and  noticing  the  way  in  which  it 
blends  with  other  motives  or  opposes  them.  This  action 
on  an  extended  scale,  of  motive  upon  motive,  is  what 
Wagner  meant  by  dramatic  music,  and  it  is  in  the  develop- 
ment of  this  that  he  chiefly  manifested  his  originality.  It 
is  owing  to  it,  too,  that  he  has  obtained  such  a  hold  upon 
his  admirers.     His  method  of  adapting  music  to  the  require- 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  203 

ments  of  intellect  necessarily  adds  to  it  an  intellectual 
interest.  In  fact,  after  making  all  due  allowance  for 
those  who  applaud  and  apparently  enjoy  his  music  for  the 
same  reason  that  they  applaud  and  apparently  enjoy  any- 
thing which  is  understood  to  be  fashionable,  there  are  cer- 
tainly many  people  formerly  unable  to  appreciate  anything 
musical,  who  have  learned  to  perceive  in  his  works  that 
which  they  can  appreciate,  and  who,  by  first  coming  to 
take  delight  in  music  as  developed  by  him,  have  come 
to  take  an  otherwise,  for  them,  impossible  interest  in  all  its 
legitimate  forms.  Through  effects  thus  exerted  Wagner 
greatly  dignified  the  art  to  which  he  devoted  himself, 
as  well  as  extended  the  sphere  of  its  influence. — Rhythm 
and  Harmony  in  Poetry  and  Music :  Music  as  a  Represen- 
tative Arty  VIII. 

MUSIC,  HOW  REPRESENTATIVE  (see  paragraphs  concerning 
music  under  representation  and  representative). 
Startled  by  circumstances,  the  child  of  nature  utters 
inarticulate  cries.  These  are  instinctive  in  their  origin;  but 
are  always  alike  when  the  mind  is  influenced  by  like  motives. 
Therefore  men  associate  them  with  these  motives,  for  which 
reason  they  may  be  said  to  be  in  a  true  sense  representative 
of  them.  Availing  himself  of  this  fact  the  artist  endeavors 
to  portray  in  music  the  effect  not  of  a  single  feeling,  but  of 
an  entire  current  of  feelings  as  set  in  motion  by  outside 
influences.  Notice  too  that  all  the  developments  of  the  art 
continue  as  it  begins.  Notwithstanding  the  very  limited 
amount  of  imitation  and,  in  this  sense,  of  comparison  that 
we  find  in  music,  nevertheless,  a  great  composer,  through 
introducing  only  a  few  imitative  notes,  may  force  the  mind 
to  connect  two  things  as  radically  different  as,  say,  a 
symphony  and  a  landscape.  That  he  may  accomplish 
this  end,  two  conditions  are  necessary:  he  must  have 
observed  the  particular  character  of  the  sounds  through 
which  the  child  of  nature,  and,  in  some  cases,  through 
which  the  irrational  creature,  represents  particular  feel- 
ings; and  again,  he  must  have  been  conscious  within  him- 
self of  feelings  similarly  excited — similar  in  kind,  that  is, 
not  in  degree — and  hence  capable  of  being  represented 
similarly.  The  two  conditions  go  together.  Unless  he 
has  observed  the  forms  of  expression  in  natural  life,  the 
forms  at  his  command,   to  be  used  in  his  art-product, 


204  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

will  be  few  in  number.  Unless  he  himself  has  experienced 
feelings  that  naturally  lead  to  such  expressions,  the  few 
forms  that  he  does  use  will  not  be  used  appropriately. 
They  will  have  little  meaning.  They  will  not  speak  to 
the  universal  human  heart  with  the  authority  of  a  veritable 
language  of  the  emotions.  In  short,  we  notice  what  is  in 
exact  analogy  with  the  line  of  thought  in  the  chapters  pre- 
ceding this,  namely,  that  the  same  conditions  which  make 
music  representative  of  human  nature  or  of  natural  feel- 
ing render  it  representative  also  of  the  artist  or  of  the 
artist's  feeling;  in  other  words  that  to  be  truly  represen- 
tative of  nature,  this  art  must  be  representative  of  man 
also. — Art  in  Theory,  xviii. 

MUSIC,  ITS  GENESIS  {see  also  ART  FOR  ART'S  SAKE,  POETRY 
vs.  MUSIC,  ETC.). 

Music  has  been  traced  to  humming.  But  only  a  slight 
development  of  this  latter  is  needed  in  order  to  turn  it 
into  a  song;  and  a  song  is  not  merely  the  beginning  of 
music,  but  music.  Cannot  a  man  sing  without  construct- 
ing a  product  external  to  himself  .f"  Certainly  he  can,  and 
so  can  a  bird;  and,  if  a  man  could  do  no  more,  he  could 
do  nothing  entitling  music  to  be  placed  in  a  class  different 
from  that  to  which,  for  example,  dramatic  representation 
belongs.  A  melody,  in  itself  considered,  is  not  necessa- 
rily, in  the  finest  and  most  distinctive  sense,  a  natural  form 
made  human.  Yet  it  may  be  this.  It  is  so  in  the  degree 
in  which  it  is  unmistakably  a  product  of  the  art  of  music. 
What  is  such  a  product?  A  composition  that  consists 
not  merely  of  unstudied  subjective  expressions  in  sounds. 
It  is  objective.  It  is  a  result  of  labor  and  practice.  Even 
aside  from  its  usually  involving  an  external  writing  in 
musical  notation,  it  is  a  development  of  a  complicated 
system  of  producing  notes  and  scales  and  chords,  not  only 
with  the  human  voice,  but  with  numerous  instruments, 
invented,  primarily,  so  as  to  imitate  every  possibility  of 
the  human  voice,  all  these  working  together  in  accordance 
with  subtle  laws  of  melody  and  harmony  which,  as  a  result 
of  years  of  experiment,  men  have  discovered  and  learned 
to  apply.  Indeed,  almost  the  slightest  musical  composing 
suggests  an  external  product.  Simple  humming  is  not 
only  a  method  of  expression  for  its  own  sake,  but  it  is  a  form 
of  nature,  of  nature  as  manifested  in  a  man.     A  symphony 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  205 

is  a  development  not  only  of  the  possibilities  of  this  expres- 
sion, but  of  its  peculiar  form;  and  it  involves,  therefore, 
especially  in  connection  with  the  necessity  for  a  written 
score  and  for  manufactured  instruments,  the  existence  and 
elaboration  of  form  such  as  is  possible  only  to  an  external 
product.  Notice,  too,  that  to  the  last  detail  of  this  elabora- 
tion, there  is  nothing  whatever  in  the  art  that  is  not  attribu- 
table to  the  satisfaction  which  the  mind  takes  in  developing 
the  form  not  for  the  purpose  of  attaining  an  end  of  material 
utility,  but  for  the  sake  of  its  own  intrinsic  beauty. — Art 
in  Theory,  win. 

MUSIC,    ITS   LANGUAGE   FOR   THE   MIND. 

There  is  a  natural,  inarticulated  language  of  the  emotions 
employed  by  all  of  us.  What  reason  is  there  in  nature  to 
suppose  otherwise  than  that  all  its  elements  might  be  com- 
prehended and  tabulated  with  sufficient  definiteness  in  a 
few  score  of  carefully  related  forms  of  sound?  As  it  is, 
even  now,  every  really  great  composer  recognizes  the 
existence  of  this  language  and  unconsciously  applies  its 
principles.  Why  should  they  not  be  formulated  so  that 
all  men  could  know  them?  Why  should  not  the  psycho- 
logical correspondences  of  music  be  unfolded  with  as  much 
definiteness  as  those  of  elocution  to  which  in  their  elements 
they  are  analogous  ?  Or,  if  the  formulation  of  the  principles 
involved  would  necessitate,  as  it  might,  artistic  difficulties 
and  dangers  impossible  to  overcome,  why,  at  least,  might 
there  not  be  developed  among  men  such  a  concurrence  of 
opinion  with  reference  to  the  principles  themselves  that  the 
composer  would  feel  constrained,  more  often  than  at  pres- 
ent, to  regard  them?  And  then,  in  the  degree  in  which 
they  were  carried  out  persistently  and  accurately,  would 
not  the  musical  world  be  made  familiar  with  them,  and  even 
the  unmusical  be  made,  at  any  rate,  to  recognize  their 
existence?  Were  this  done  we  should  have  no  more  writers 
upon  aesthetics  with  outer  and  inner  senses — ears  and 
minds — so  dull  of  perception  as  to  declare  that  music  does 
not  appeal,  as  do  the  other  arts,  to  intelligence,  or  that  it  is 
presentative  and  not  representative.  It  has  been  abun- 
dantly shown  here  that  this  view  is  erroneous;  but  it  would 
be  an  advantage  to  have  the  recognized  conditions  of  the  art 
clearly  reveal  the  fact.  It  would  be  an  advantage  to  have 
music  seen  by  all  in  its  true  position,  standing  side  by  side 


206  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

with  poetry,  painting,  sculpture,  and  architecture,  and  rep- 
resenting in  just  as  legitimate  a  sense  as  they,  its  own  appro- 
priate phase  of  the  influence  which  nature  exerts  not  merely 
upon  the  auditory  nerves — which  alone  would  not  account 
for  its  spiritual  effects — but  also  upon  the  mind. — Rhythm 
and  Harmony  in  Poetry  and  Music  :  Music  as  a  Representa- 
tive Art,  VIII. 

MUSIC,  SPIRITUAL  EFFECTS  OF. 

If  the  mind  can  ever  be  affected  by  color  in  exactly  the 
same  way  as  by  sound,  then  coloring,  like  music,  may 
become  an  art  setting  in  motion  the  general  drift  of 
thought  and  feeling,  but  leaving  imagination  free  to  formu- 
late what  evolves  from  the  drift.  Because  exerting  this 
kind  of  influence  upon  the  sources  rather  than  the  results 
of  thinking,  music  never,  even  when  used  in  worship,  tends 
to  dogmatism  and  bigotry  as  do,  sometimes,  the  words  of 
hymns,  or  to  idolatry  and  superstition  as  do,  sometimes, 
pictures  and  statues.  Its  tendencies  to  a  greater  extent 
than  those  of  any  of  the  other  arts  except,  perhaps,  archi- 
tecture, are  spiritual  and  religious.  It  would  be  strange  if 
the  play  of  electric  light  on  the  stage  of  the  comic  opera  and 
the  ballet  should  lead,  some  day,  to  a  new  art — probably  of 
decoration,  though  possibly  of  performance — which  philoso- 
phers would  have  a  right  to  associate  with  the  distinctively 
spiritual  and  religious.  But  it  would  not  be  the  first  time 
that  the  world  has  had  experience  of  such  results.  Most 
of  us  have  heard  the  same  kind  of  music  that  summons 
the  wild  Indian  tribes  to  a  war-dance  used  to  collect  the 
throngs  of  the  Salvation  Army;  and,  if  we  live  long  enough, 
we  may  hear,  in  many  a  Sunday-school,  the  melody  of  the 
"  Merry  Widow  Waltz"  inciting  to  all  the  virtues.  If  the 
teachings  of  history  have  not  been  misinterpreted,  we  might 
have  had  none  of  the  harmony  that  renders  possible  the 
great  anthems  or  masses  of  the  present,  had  it  not  been  for 
the  Bacchanalian  street-airs  brought  together  in  rounds, 
which  so  distressed  the  serious  minded  Plato ;  or  introduced, 
to  relieve,  by  way  of  variation,  the  unisonance  of  solemn 
cathedral  chants,  in  disregard  of  consternation  in  the  souls 
of  the  mediaeval  priests. — Essay  on  Music  as  Related  to  Other 
Arts. 

MUSIC  vs.  POETRY  (see  also  poetry  vs.  music). 

It  follows  from  what  has  been  said  that,  as  distinguished 
from  poetry,  music  should  be  representative  of  only  such 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  207 

indefinite  and  emotive  mental  effects  as  can  be  expressed 
in  unarticulated  sounds.  This  inference  suggests,  at  once, 
a  reason  for  certain  well-known  facts  with  reference  to 
the  effects  of  this  art.  It  shows  us,  for  instance,  why  the 
music  invariably  conceded  to  rank  highest  is  instrumental ; 
,  .  .  and  again,  it  shows  us  why  it  is  that  all  men,  well- 
nigh  with  unanimity,  recognize  a  superlative  sweetness  in 
the  midnight  serenade.  In  both  cases  there  is  experienced 
a  distinctive  effect  of  sound,  and  of  this  only.  In  con- 
nection with  the  former,  there  is  no  distraction  from  words ; 
in  connection  with  the  latter,  none  from  sights. — The 
Representative  Significance  of  Form,  xxvi. 

NATURAL  EFFECTS  RATHER  THAN  APPEARANCES  REPRODUCED 

IN  ART  {see  also  art  as  mental,  and  repre- 
sentation IN  art  vs.  imitation). 
But  again,  are  the  effects  that  come  from  nature  trace- 
able to  the  forms  in  themselves,  or  to  causes  behind  the 
forms?  Hardly  to  the  forms  in  themselves,  because, 
practically  considered,  as  has  been  shown,  neither  music, 
poetry,  painting,  sculpture,  nor  architecture  involves  an 
exact  imitation  of  forms.  At  best,  art  merely  reproduces, 
as  will  be  brought  out  in  Chapter  XVI.,  their  effects;  and 
again,  because,  theoretically  considered,  in  reproducing 
effects,  a  stream  cannot  rise  higher  than  its  source.  How 
can  powerful  influences  such  as,  presumably,  stir  thought 
or  feeling  in  the  presence  of  beauty,  owe  their  origin  to 
forms  that  have  no  force  of  any  kind — at  any  rate,  no 
mental  or  spiritual  force  behind  them? — Art  in  Theory,  xv. 

The  mind  itself  is  a  source  of  thoughts  and  feelings. 
These  are  constantly  at  work,  and  the  influence  of  them  may 
often  change  completely  the  specific  form  in  which  an  effect 
has  come  from  nature.  This  is  a  fact,  a  discussion  of  which 
would  have  greatly  enhanced  the  value  of  Lessing's  cele- 
brated criticism  upon  the  "Laocoon. "  What  is  involved 
in  the  fact  may  be  made  clear  by  an  illustration.  Suppose 
a  man  to  have  listened  to  the  story  of  a  battle.  It  might 
be  presumed  that  a  representation  of  what  he  has  heard 
would  also  assume  the  form  of  a  story,  and  therefore  be 
artistically  expressed  in  a  poem.  But  often  the  effect 
of  the  story  upon  his  imagination,  as  also  of  his  imagination 
upon  it,  is  such  that  what  is  experienced  can  be  represented 
truthfully   only    through    a    picture.     Again,    it    happens 


208  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

sometimes  that  the  forms  through  which  the  effects  have 
been  exerted,  have  lingered  so  long  in  his  mind,  and  experi- 
enced so  many  modifications  there  that,  though  critical 
analysis  may  detect,  as  in  architecture  and  music,  that  the 
effects  produced  have  been  suggested  by  forms  in  nature,  the 
artist  himself  is  unconscious  of  what  these  forms  were. — 
Idem,  XVI. 

NATURAL  EFFECTS  REPRODUCED  IN  ART  {$66  ART  AS  MENTAL). 

In  poems  and  dramas,  the  characters  represented, 
although  Homeric  gods  or  Miltonic  angels,  speak  and  act 
in  ways  showing  that  the  artist's  ideas  concerning  them 
have  been  modeled  upon  forms  natural  to  men  and  women 
of  the  earth.  Even  in  music  and  architecture,  the  principle 
holds  good,  though  in  a  more  subtle  sense.  There  would  be 
no  melodies  if  it  were  not  for  the  natural  songs  of  men  and 
birds  or  for  what  are  called  "the  voices  of  nature";  nor 
would  there  be  buildings  were  there  not  in  nature  rocks  and 
trees  furnishing  walls  and  columns  and  water-sheds,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  innumerable  forms  suggested  by  the  trunks, 
branches,  leaves,  flowers,  and  other  natural  figures  which 
architectural  details  unmistakably  imitate.  In  a  word — to 
repeat  what  was  said  before — the  effects  of  art  are  not  what 
they  are  because  they  are  unnatural.  On  the  contrary,  they 
all  do  no  more  than  remake,  reproduce,  reshape,  rearrange, 
reapply,  recombine,  represent  appearances  that  nature  first 
supplies. — Art  in  Theory,  i. 

The  first  condition  of  art  is  an  audible  or  visible  form; 
and  this  form  is  always  a  reproduction,  at  least  partially, 
of  something  perceived  in  nature,  which  term  is  to  be 
understood  as  including  not  only  non-human  but  human 
nature,  as  manifested  in  a  man's  actions  and  utter- 
ances. It  follows,  therefore,  that,  in  some  way,  one  must 
always  associate  with  nature  whatever  thoughts  and  emo- 
tions he  puts  into  artistic  form.  Otherwise,  he  could  not 
attribute  to  nature  any  possibility  of  representing  these; 
he  could  not  suppose  that,  by  using  natural  forms  as  he 
does,  he  could  suggest  his  thoughts  and  emotions  to  others. 
— The  Representative  Significance  of  Form,  i. 

Whenever  we  term  a  product  of  art  "natural, "  and  argue 
that,  because  it  is  so,  it  is  artistically  effective,  we  include 
in  the  term  "natural"  a  conception  both  of  form  and  of 
conditions  which  precede  and  determine  form.     For  in- 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  209 

stance,  we  all  recognize  that  the  events  portrayed  in  a  drama 
or  a  novel  are  effective  in  the  degree  in  which  they  are 
natural  to  the  conditions  that  lead  up  to  them,  i.  e.,  to 
the  causes  occasioning  them. — Idem,  xii. 

NATURAL  FORMS  AS  THE  AGENTS  OF  EXPRESSION. 

At  every  stage  of  intellection,  a  man  is  forced  to  use 
the  forms  of  the  material  world  in  order  to  represent  his 
mental  processes.  Otherwise  they  could  not  be  perceived 
clearly  nor  understood  intelligently  even  by  himself,  and 
much  less  by  others  to  whom  he  wishes  to  communicate 
them.  Take  any  one  of  the  more  important  of  the  emotions 
that  actuate  us  and  we  shall  recognize  this  fact.  Take  that 
experience  in  some  of  the  manifestations  of  which  religious 
people  believe  that  a  man  most  resembles  the  Unseen  One. 
Think  how  love,  which  is  begotten  often  in  a  single  glance, 
and  is  matured  in  a  single  thrill,  gives  vent  to  its  invisible 
intensity.  How  infinite  in  range  and  in  variety  are  those 
material  forms  of  earth  and  air  and  fire  and  water  which  are 
used  by  a  man  as  figures  through  which  to  represent  the  emo- 
tion within  him!  What  extended  though  sweet  tales,  what 
endless  repetitions  of  comparisons  from  hills  and  valleys, 
streams  and  oceans,  flowers  and  clouds,  are  made  to  revolve 
about  that  soul  which,  through  the  use  of  them  endeavors  to 
picture  in  poetry  spiritual  conditions  and  relations  which 
would  remain  unrevealed  but  for  the  possibility  of  being 
thus  indirectly  symbolized!  Nor  is  it  man  alone  who  is 
obliged  to  use  the  forms  of  material  nature  in  order  to  reveal 
the  workings  of  his  spirit.  He  himself  does  this  only,  as  it 
were,  by  way  of  imitation ;  only  because  he  partakes  of  the 
nature  and  therefore  must  follow  the  methods  of  the  Crea- 
tive Spirit  to  which  all  men  and  all  material  nature  owe 
their  origin.  If  what  has  been  said  be  true  of  the  expres- 
sion of  human  love,  why  should  not  the  Great  Heart  whose 
calm  beating  works  the  pulses  of  the  universe  express  divine 
love  through  similar  processes  evolving  infinitely  and  eter- 
nally into  forms  not  ideal  and  verbal,  but  real  and  tangible 
— in  fact,  into  forms  which  we  term  those  of  nature  ? 

Do  we  not  all,  subtly,  at  least,  believe  in  the  two  state- 
ments just  made?  Do  we  not  believe  that  material  nature 
furnishes  the  representative  implements  through  which  a 
man  creates  language,  and  that  it  furnishes  also  the  actual 
implements  through  which  the  Creative  Spirit  produces 


210  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

a  language  speaking,  though  in  a  less  articulate  and  distinct 
way,  to  our  thoughts  and  emotions? — Psychology  of  Inspi- 
ration, VI. 

This  is  the  question  with  which,  wittingly  or  unwittingly, 
poetry  and  poetic  faith  always  have  confronted  and  always 
must  confront  merely  natural  science  and  scientific  skepti- 
cism.— Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art,  xxviii. 

NATURE,  REPRESENTATION  OF,  ESSENTIAL  TO  ART. 

Forms  of  natural  expression — intonation,  speech,  draw- 
ing, coloring,  constructing — just  at  the  point  where  most 
satisfactory  as  means  of  communicating  thought  and  feeling, 
lack  something  that  art  needs.  What  is  this?  It  is  not 
difficult  to  tell.  .  .  .  They  lack  that  which  can  be  given,  in 
connection  with  expression,  by  the  reproduction  of  the 
effects  of  nature.  Penmanship  and  hieroglyphics  lack  the 
appearances  of  nature  that  are  copied  in  painting  and 
sculpture.  Prose  lacks  the  figures  of  speech  and  descriptions 
that  in  poetry  are  constantly  pointing  attention  to  the  same 
appearances;  and,  as  shown  in  the  last  chapter,  even  the 
elements  subsequently  developed  into  music  and  archi- 
tecture lack  traces  of  a  very  keen  observation  and  extensive 
use  of  effects  in  nature  which  would  not  need  to  be  observed 
or  used  at  all,  were  the  end  in  view  attainable  by  the  mere 
communication  of  thought  or  feeling.  Were  communica- 
tion the  aim  of  any  art,  the  elaboration  of  the  forms  of 
nature  would  cease  at  the  point  where  it  became  sufficient 
for  this  purpose. — Art  in  Theory,  v. 

NATURE,   REVELATION  OF  ITS  LAWS  BY  POETS  AND  ARTISTS. 

A  philosophical  botanist — to  say  nothing  of  a  poet  like 
Wordsworth — will  have  scores  of  thoughts  suggested  to 
him  by  a  scene  in  nature,  which  would  never  occur  to  most 
of  us.  Now  these  scenes  in  nature, — what  are  they? 
They  are  visible  representations  of  the  life  and  methods 
at  the  source  of  nature.  They  are  illustrations,  through 
the  appearances  and  operations  of  nature,  of  what  we  mean 
when  we  speak  of  divine  laws,  principles,  and  truths.  I 
think  that  everyone  admits  that  one  of  the  chief  missions 
to  the  world  of  great  poetic  and  artistic  minds,  like  those  of 
Dante,  Angelo,  Shakespeare,  Raphael,  and  Goethe,  is  that 
they  interpret  rightly  these  laws,  prinqiples,  and  truths. — 
Essay  on  Teaching  in  Drawing. 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  '^211 

NATURE,  TRUTH  TO,  NOT  ALL  THAT  ART  NEEDS. 

We  are  constantly  hearing  it  asserted  that,  if  anything 
portrayed  in  art  be  "true  to  nature, "  this  fact  is  a  sufficient 
warrant  for  its  reproduction — in  plays  or  pictures,  for  in- 
stance— and,  sometimes,  a  trustworthy  test  of  its  excellence. 
In  connection  with  this  assertion,  those  who — mainly,  as  is 
supposed,  for  moral  reasons — object  to  some  of  the  practical 
results  of  applying  the  theory  involved  in  it  are  usually 
represented  to  be  victims  of  ignorance  or  bias  which  they 
would  not  manifest  had  they  been  sufficiently  cultivated 
aesthetically.  According  to  the  conclusions  reached  in  this 
volume,  nothing  could  be  more  at  variance  with  the  truth 
than  such  assertions  and  representations.  Our  whole 
argument  tends  to  show  that  the  mere  fact  that  effects 
are  "true  to  nature "  by  no  means  justifies  their  use  in  art  of 
high  quality.  They  can  be  used  in  this  so  far  only  as,  in  the 
first  place,  they  are  in  themselves  beautiful,  and,  in  the 
second  place,  are,  aside  from  themselves,  suggestive,  or 
capable  of  being  made  suggestive,  of  the  artist's  thought 
and  feeling.  Ugliness  and  vileness  are  never  beautiful  in 
themselves,  though,  at  times,  some  feature  manifesting  them 
may  enhance,  by  way  of  contrast,  the  beauty  of  some  other 
feature  which  they  are  introduced  in  order  to  offset.  When 
they  form  the  sole  theme  of  paintings,  statues,  novels,  or 
dramas,  as,  unfortunately,  is  the  case  in  many  products  of 
many  men  greatly  praised  in  our  own  time, — their  names 
need  not  be  mentioned, — the  result  is  opposed  to  the  first 
principles  of  aesthetics  still  more  than  of  ethics. — The 
Essentials  of  ^Esthetics,  xviii. 

NOVEL,  INFLUENCE  OF  THE  MODERN. 

When  we  recall  the  Puritanism,  the  bigotry,  and  the 
sectarianism  of  the  last  century,  we  cannot  fail  to  contrast 
them  with  the  humaneness  and  the  liberality  of  thought  and 
feeling  prevailing  in  our  own  times;  and,  if  we  ask  what  has 
wrought  the  change,  we  are  forced  to  ascribe  it,  very  largely, 
to  the  influence  of  the  modern  novel.  Through  portrayals 
of  people  entirely  different  in  motives,  manners,  customs, 
and  characters  from  those  with  whom  the  novel's  readers 
have  associated,  these  readers  have  been  enabled  to  become 
well  acquainted  with  conditions  of  thought  and  of  life  foreign 
to  their  own.  The  effect  has  been  to  broaden  their  knowl- 
edge of  the  world  and  of  hiunan  nature,  and  to  increase 


212  '  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

almost  infinitely  their  sympathies  with  men  of  "all  sorts 
and  conditions."  In  other  words  the  novel  has  given  mil- 
lions of  people  whose  real  experience,  perhaps,  has  been 
necessarily  confined  to  the  narrow  limits  of  a  single  village, 
a  substitute  in  the  way  of  an  imaginative  experience  almost 
as  effective  as  anything  obtained  by  actual  travel.  That 
one  normal  result  of  such  an  imaginative  experience  is  to 
purify  mind  and  heart  through  developing  wisdom  and 
charity  has  been  proved  by  the  effects  which  can  unmis- 
takably be  traced  to  this  form  of  literature. — Art  in  Theory ^ 
Appendix  iii. 

NOVEL,  ITS  REFORMATORY  INFLUENCE. 

It  is  less  the  influence  of  the  pulpit  than  of  the  novel 
that  in  our  own  land,  within  the  memory  of  some  still 
living,  has  not  only  freed  the  slave  and  unfrocked  the 
aristocrat,  but  has  snatched  the  standards  of  sectarianism 
from  the  hands  of  hypocrites  and  bigots,  and  restored  for 
all  the  Church  the  one  standard  of  Constantine,  and  that 
one  not  held  up  by  the  hands  of  man,  but  flaming  in  the 
sky. — Essay  on  Art  and  Education. 

NUDE  ART. 

As  applied  to  the  human  figure,  and  to  the  expression, 
through  every  part  of  it,  of  some  special  phase  of  signifi- 
cance, it  is  apparent  that  certain  legitimate  deductions 
from  this  principle  are  often  ignored.  When  this  is  said, 
it  must  be  said  also,  if  we  are  to  deal  with  the  subject 
with  perfect  truth,  that  they  are  ignored  almost  as  much 
in  certain  disguising  concealments  of  the  form  character- 
izing some  of  the  customs  of  civilization,  as  in  certain 
disenchanting  exposures  of  it  characterizing  some  of  the 
conventionalities  of  art.  Viewing  the  subject  not  with 
the  prejudice  which  supposes  that  whatever  is,  is  neces- 
sarily right,  and  therefore  finds  fault  with  straight  skirts 
on  a  woman  merely  because  others  are  wearing  hoops, 
and  with  knickerbockers  on  a  man  merely  because  others 
are  wearing  pantaloons;  but  viewing  the  subject  in  a 
rational  way,  it  may  be  said  that  the  human  form  just  as 
it  is,  is  God-made,  whereas  human  clothing  is  man-made; 
and  that  the  latter,  even  though  it  drag  for  yards  behind 
the  feet,  especially  if  with  just  enough  exposure  to  sug- 
gest a  possibility  of  more  exposure,  may  be  in  its 
tendency  less  humanizing,  in  a  good  sense,  than  a  garb  dis- 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  213 

closing  enough,  at  least,  to  allow  free  and  natural  expression 
to  the  soul  within.  The  Hebrew  priest  was  told  to 
sprinkle  the  blood  of  a  sacrificial  victim — representing 
life  that  was  innocent  and  therefore  spiritual — on  the 
vessels  of  the  temple  every  time  that  he  had  occasion  to 
use  them.  The  people  were  thus  taught  that  nothing  in 
the  world  that  is  material,  not  even  a  consecrated  imple- 
ment of  the  sanctuary,  is  sacred  except  when  made  to 
represent  the  presence  of  spiritual  life.  Much  less  is  th^ 
material  clothing  of  human  figures  sacred.  One  might 
argue  that  it  can  never  represent  spiritual  life  quite  as 
well  as  when  it  faithfully  reveals  the  general  outlines  of 
the  form  which  the  creative  power  designed  that  spiritual 
life  on  earth  should  have.  Or — to  examine  the  subject 
in  the  light  of  its  practical  effects — what  artist  ever  repre- 
sented a  wanton  in  the  scanty  short  skirts  and  bare  feet 
of  a  peasant?  What  man,  so  far  as  form  in  dress  could 
affect  him,  would  not  be  conscious  of  more  kindly,  tender, 
generous,  and  protective  impulses  awakened  in  him  by  the 
simple  clothing  of  the  latter,  or  of  a  young  girl  just  enter- 
ing her  teens,  than  by  the  trailing  silks  and  laces  of  the 
former?  This  much  for  one  of  the  many  mistakes  of 
civilization.  No  influence  is  more  indirectly  exalting  than 
beauty,  and  no  beauty  ought  to  be  more  exalting  than 
that  of  the  human  form.  To  veil  it  wholly,  as  the  Oriental 
women  do  their  faces,  may  impair  the  charm  of  life  not 
only,  but  its  chastity.  When  much  that  is  concealed,  might, 
if  revealed,  put  an  end  both  to  legitimate  curiosity  and  to 
purely  aesthetic  desires,  might  it  not  also  put  an  end  to  much 
that,  when  developed,  reinforces  desires  of  a  less  worthy 
nature?  It  is  certainly  a  question  whether  in  such  cases, 
complete  satisfaction  would  not  often  accompany  that 
which  satisfied  merely  the  eye.  The  Japanese,  familiar 
from  childhood  with  an  almost  total  exposure  of  the  form, 
and  notwithstanding  traditionally  low  standards  of  con- 
ventional morality,  are  believed  by  themselves,  and  by 
others  who  have  studied  them,  to  be,  absolutely  considered, 
more  moral  by  nature,  in  that  they  are  less  prone  to  morbid 
and  soulless  forms  of  indulgence,  than  are  the  Europeans. 
Is  not  one  proof  of  this — as  it  certainly  is  a  proof  of  the 
delicacy  of  their  sense  of  propriety  and,  for  that  matter,  of 
beauty — afforded  by  the  fact  that,  in  their  higher  art,  com- 
plete nudity  is  never  depicted?     So  much  for  a  mistake  of 


214  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

conventional  fashion.  Now  a  few  words  with  reference  to  a 
mistake  in  an  opposite  direction  made  by  conventional  art. 
The  true  principle  in  art  is  that  it  should  represent  life,  and, 
if  dealing  with  human  life,  should  represent  that  which  is 
in  the  highest  sense  humanizing.  But  that  which  is  in  the 
highest  sense  humanizing  gives  principality  to  mental  and 
spiritual  suggestions,  and  keeps  others  subordinate.  Can 
this  be  said  to  be  done  when  parts  of  the  body,  which  even 
barbarians  conceal,  are  exposed,  in  conditions,  as  some- 
times happens  in  modern  art,  so  different  from  those  of 
natural  life  that  one  is  forced  to  the  inference  that  they  are 
exposed  for  the  sole  purpose  of  exposure  ?  In  answer  to  this 
we  are  referred  to  Greek  art.  But  Greek  art  was  true  to  the 
conditions  of  Greek  life.  The  legitimate  deduction  is  that 
our  art  should  be  true  to  the  conditions  of  our  life.  .  .  . 
The  truth  is  that,  in  this,  as  in  every  other  practical  possi- 
bility, there  is  no  end  worth  seeking,  whether  it  be  the 
representation  of  human  sentiment  or  of  skill  in  workman- 
ship, that  cannot  be  attained  without  going  to  extremes. 
When  one  thinks  of  this  fact,  and  of  the  liability,  if  it  be  dis- 
regarded, of  having  art  lower  its  aims,  or  if  not  this,  having  it 
antagonize,  through  creating  false  impressions  of  its  aims, 
thousands  of  those  in  special  need  of  its  influence, — in  other 
words,  when  one  thinks  how  much  might  be  gained  to  the 
world,  and  how  little  can  be  lost,  by  applying  in  this  sphere 
the  same  common  sense  that  all  men  are  expected  to  apply 
in  other  spheres,  it  certainly  seems  strange  that  those  who 
wish  to  make  the  most  of  art  should  pursue  a  course,  in  either 
criticism  or  production,  fitted  really  to  make  the  least  of  it. 
— Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color,  vii. 

A  friend  of  mine  once  met,  on  a  Pacific  steamship,  a 
Japanese  fresh  from  his  own  country  who  represented  him- 
self as  greatly  shocked  by  some  framed  photographs  of 
European  works  of  art  of  excessive  disrobement  which  he 
had  observed  hanging  in  the  Captain's  cabin.  "Why?" — 
said  my  friend  to  him.  *'  It  is  only  what  one  can  see  almost 
every  day  in  the  life  of  your  own  land."  "We  have  it  in 
life,"  replied  the  Japanese,  "but  we  don't  thrust  it  upon 
attention,  and,  by  elaborating  it  in  our  art,  make  a  public 
confession  of  how  much  we  have  been  thinking  and  feeling 
about  it. "  It  is  well  to  observe  that  this  representative  of 
the  most  artistic  of  living  races  was  not  influenced  by  ethics 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  215 

but  by  aesthetics, — by  the  requirements  merely  of  delicate 
instinct  and  good  taste. — Essentials  of  Esthetics,  xviii. 

OBSCURITY,   LITERARY,   WHEN  EXCUSABLE   {see  olsO 

ellipsis). 
Frequently,  the  difference  between  the  artistic  and  scien- 
tific method  might  be  said  to  be  owing  merely  to  the  differ- 
ent degrees  of  rapidity  with  which  the  thoughts  are  moving. 
This  fact  will  be  evident  upon  recalling  the  condition  usually 
accompanying  the  mind's  imaginative  and,  therefore,  parti- 
ally subconscious  actions.  It  will  be  found  to  be  a  condition 
of  emotive  excitement.  Listen  to  the  children  as  they 
watch  a  display  of  fireworks.  With  what  facility  they 
recognize  resemblances!  Roosters,  churches,  fans,  and 
fountains, — these  are  what  they  imagine  to  be  in  shapes 
suggesting  nothing  to  their  parents.  Yet  when  some 
excitement  strong  enough  to  appeal  to  these  latter  has 
succeeded  in  moving  them,  they,  too,  will  become  unex- 
pectedly imaginative.  As  for  the  intelligent  artist,  there 
is  reason  to  suppose  that  imaginative  results  in  his  case, 
also,  are  owing  to  mental  action  too  rapid  for  him  to  be 
conscious  of  all  its  processes.  This  fact,  indeed,  is  often 
very  effectively  represented  in  artistic  products,  especially 
in  literature,  the  words  of  which  are  particularly  fitted  to 
reveal  exactly  what  is  taking  place  in  the  thoughts  to 
which  the  words  give  expression.  Recall  the  ellipses  and 
consequent  obscurity  in  which  writers  like  Carlyle  and 
Browning  indulge.  In  almost  every  instance  where  obscur- 
ity of  this  kind  is  observable,  some  additional  reflec- 
tion would  have  enabled  the  writer  to  recall  and  to  reveal 
the  missing  links  of  thought,  and  thus  to  give  his  expres- 
sions the  effects  of  careful  precision.  In  many  cases  we 
may  criticize  his  not  doing  this.  But  had  he  done  it  in 
all  cases,  would  the  result  have  been  as  artistic  as  it  is? 
Thus  expressed,  would  it  not  have  represented  a  concep- 
tion in  all  of  its  details  clearly  present  to  the  conscious 
mind?  But  art,  as  we  have  found,  represents  a  concep- 
tion of  a  part  of  which  the  mind  is  conscious  and  of  a  part 
of  which,  owing  to  the  rapidity  of  its  processes,  the  mind 
is  not  conscious.  Thus  this  effect  of  obscurity,  so  often 
recognized  as  being  for  some  vague  reason  particularly 
artistic,  is  seen  to  be  so  because  it  accords  exactly  with 
the  requirements  of  art. — Identy  iii. 


2i6  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

OBSCURITY,  LITERARY,  WHEN  INEXCUSABLE. 

The  conclusions  that  have  been  reached  thus  far  con- 
cur in  serving  to  prove  that  poetry  as  an  art  must  have 
form,  the  very  sounds  of  the  single  and  consecutive  words 
of  which  must  represent  the  phases  and  movements,  physi- 
cal, intellectual,  or  emotional,  of  which  they  are  supposed  to 
be  significant;  and  it  has  been  shown  that  great  poets  like 
Shakespeare,  Spenser,  and  Milton  are  great  masters  of 
representative  expression  in  this  sense.  It  follows  from 
these  facts  that  there  is  no  artistic  warrant  for  produc- 
ing effects  of  sound  through  insertion,  transposition,  alter- 
ation, omission,  or  other  use  of  words,  that  by  violating  the 
laws  of  grammar  or  lexicography  obscures  the  meaning.  .  .  . 
This  statement  agrees  not  only  with  the  most  recent  deduc- 
tions of  physiological  aesthetics,  but  also  with  those  of  com- 
mon sense.  The  test  of  form  in  every  case  is  its  fitness  to 
represent,  at  least  clearly,  if  not,  as  it  sometimes  should, 
brilliantly,  every  line  and  color,  every  phase  and  movement, 
every  fact  and  suggestion  of  the  ideas  to  be  expressed.  If 
this  test  be  borne  in  mind,  there  can  still  be  plenty  of 
poetic  failures  from  lack  of  poetic  ideas,  but  no  failures  from 
a  mere  lack  of  the  very  easily  obtained  knowledge  of  the 
rudimentary  principles  of  poetic  technique. — Poetry  as  a 
Representative  Art,  xiv. 

OBSERVATION. 

To  whatever  art  we  look,  in  the  degree  in  which  a  work 
rises  toward  the  highest  rank,  it  continues  to  train  our 
powers  of  observation.  One  difference  between  the  great 
poet,  for  instance,  and  the  little  poet  is  in  those  single  words 
and  phrases  that  indicate  accuracy  in  the  work  of  ear  or  eye, 
or  of  logical  or  analogical  inference.  Recall  Tennyson's 
references  to  the  ** gouty  oak,"  the  "shock-head  willow," 
the  ** wet-shod  alder."  .  .  .  Now  can  you  tell  me  any 
study  for  the  young  that  will  cultivate  accuracy  of  obser- 
vation, that  will  begin  to  do  this,  as  can  be  done  by  setting 
them  tasks  in  drawing,  coloring,  carving,  or,  if  we  apply  the 
same  principle  to  the  ear  as  well  as  to  the  eye,  in  elocution 
and  music? — Essay  on  Art  and  Education. 

OBSERVATION,  ACCURACY  OF,  IMPORTANT. 

When  a  fire  threatens  several  places  in  a  street,  when  a 
ship  seems  about  to  strike  another  in  a  storm  or  fog,  when  a 
general  is  about  to  meet  an  enemy  upon  land  on  which  there 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  217 

are  a  few  knolls  or  houses,  then  that  man  is  apt  to  be  the 
most  efficient  who,  in  the  briefest  glance,  can  perceive  most 
clearly  the  largest  number  of  conditions  and  possibilities. 
So  in  the  scientific  world,  the  successful  botanist  is  he  who 
notices  with  most  accuracy  every  turn  of  line  or  color  that 
distinguishes  one  leaf  or  limb  from  another;  the  successful 
physician  is  he  who  is  keen  enough  not  to  leave  out  of  his 
diagnosis  a  single  one  of  the  small  and,  apparently,  insigni- 
ficant symptoms  that  separate  one  disease  from  other 
diseases.  To  be  able  to  observe  is  equally  important  in  less 
serious  circumstances.  I  once  had  a  servant  in  my  house 
who  apparently  never  failed  to  hear  anything  said  in  no 
matter  how  low  a  tone,  or  to  see  anything  left  in  no  matter 
how  hidden  a  place.  All  the  members  of  the  household  were 
inclined  to  feel  that,  with  her  about,  they  were  leading  rather 
too  conspicuous  a  life.  But  when  she  gave  way  to  another 
servant,  who  apparently  could  hear  or  see  nothing,  a  cry  for 
help  seemed  constantly  going  up  that  the  help  for  which 
we  were  paying  never  supplied.  .  .  .  Hundreds  of  similar 
instances  might  be  cited,  all  illustrating  the  importance 
of  cultivating,  when  deficient,  habits  of  observation.  All 
habits,  as  we  know,  are  cultivated  best  in  childhood. 
Nothing  tends  to  cultivate  accuracy  in  the  perception  of 
every  phase  of  form,  as  does  the  effort  to  draw  or  to  color  it. 
— Essay  on  Teaching  in  Drawing. 

OBSERVATION    VS.    THEORY    AS    AN    ART-METHOD     {see   also 

models). 
Though  induction,  as  a  philosophic  method,  was  not 
formulated  till  the  time  of  Bacon,  it  has  been  practised  ever 
since  the  origin  of  the  human  mind;  and  in  every  period  of 
high  attainment  it  has  been  practised  extensively.  Nor 
does  the  history  of  art  furnish  any  exception  to  this  state- 
ment, though,  at  many  different  periods,  certain  works  have 
been  produced  in  large  numbers  on  the  supposition  that 
mere  theories  of  form,  originally  derived,  of  course,  from 
nature,  but  finally  held  independently  of  it,  could  be  sub- 
stituted for  continued  and  careful  observation.  We  find 
such  works  among  the  remains  of  the  arts  of  Egypt  and  As- 
syria, as  well  as  of  Greece  prior  to  the  time  of  Daedalus.  We 
find  them  in  the  painting  and  sculpture  of  the  primitive 
Christians,  and  of  the  Middle  Ages.  We  find  them  in  the 
conventional  flowers  and  leaves  wrought  into  the  decorations 
of  the  earlier  Gothic  cathedrals.     We  find  them  in  many  of 


2i8  AN  ART.PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

the  figures  and  landscapes  of  the  arts  of  China  and  Japan; 
and  we  find  them  in  designs  for  illustrations  of  books 
and  for  ornamentations  on  walls,  even  in  elaborately 
wrought  products  of  the  decorative  and  what  is  termed 
the  decadent  art  of  our  own  day;  but  we  find  them  in 
the  foremost  products  of  no  age  or  style  in  which  art  is 
acknowledged  to  have  been  at  its  best. — Proportion  and 
Harmony  of  Line  and  Color,  vii. 

OPERA,  ITS  EFFECTS  NOT  ALL  THOSE  OF  ART. 

What  operatic  company  is  successful  in  our  own  country 
in  case  it  contain  no  preeminent  solo-singer?  And,  aside 
from  the  parts  in  which  the  music  is  sufficient  unto  itself, 
what  does  the  opera  furnish  save  a  species  of  intellectual  dis- 
sipation rather  than  of  recreation;  save  effects  that,  on 
account  of  their  variety,  are  distracting  rather  than  restful, 
— effects  in  which  there  is  very  little  influence  resembling 
that  of  the  "still,  small  voice"  which  thrills  us  when  listen- 
ing to  the  song  of  the  family  circle  or  to  the  "pure  music"  of 
the  concert  room,  or  when  reading  a  beautiful  poem  or 
listening  to  an  eloquent  address  ?  All  parts  of  the  opera  fur- 
nish changes  from  ordinary  thoughts  and  occupations ;  and 
all  changes  have  their  charms.  But  something  more  than 
the  effect  of  mere  change  must  be  produced  before  one  can 
experience  that  distinctively  aesthetic  influence  which 
cultivated  minds  know  to  be  the  result  of  the  highest 
art. — The  Representative  Significance  of  Form,  xxvi. 

Songs  and  operas  are  often  enjoyed  immensely  by  persons 
to  whom  music  as  music  is  a  sealed  art.  Their  pleasure  in 
the  song  is  similar  to  that  which  attends  the  utterance  of 
very  rhythmical  poetry;  and  in  the  opera,  the  gaudy  play- 
house, the  gayly  dressed  people,  the  glittering  stage,  and  the 
movements  of  the  actors  are  all  entertaining  on  their  own 
accounts.  A  real  musician,  however,  frequently  regards 
everything  of  this  sort  as  a  distraction;  and  he  enjoys  the 
music  connected  with  it  just  as  much — sometimes  more — 
when  the  words  used  on  the  stage  are  in  a  foreign  language 
which  he  does  not  understand,  or  when  the  harmony  is 
played,  apart  from  either  words  or  scenery,  by  an  orchestra 
in  a  concert. — Idem,  xxvi. 

ORATION,   FORM  OF  ONE  AS  A  WHOLE. 

An  experienced  public  speaker,  unless  in  a  time  of  unusual 
excitement,  begins  his  address  with  his  body  at  rest,  with  his 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  219 

tones  uttered  deliberately,  with  the  pitch  of  his  voice  one 
that  is  natural  to  conversation,  and  with  the  range  of  his 
thoughts  not  raised  much  above  the  level  of  those  of  his 
hearers.  In  other  words,  he  starts  where  the  audience  are, 
with  no  more  of  vehemence,  rapidity,  or  brilliancy  than  is 
justified  by  the  condition  of  thought  in  their  minds  at  the 
time.  He  begins  in  the  plane  of  ordinary,  dignified  inter- 
course, making  no  statement  with  which  he  has  not  reason 
to  suppose  that  most  of  them  will  agree.  But  as  he  ad- 
vances, his  gestures,  tones,  language,  and  ideas  gradually 
wax  more  and  more  energetic,  striking,  and  original,  till 
he  reaches  his  climax.  In  the  oration,  perfect  in  form,  in- 
tended to  produce  a  single  distinct  and  definite  impression, 
this  final  climax,  though  often  preceded  by  many  another 
of  less  importance,  stands  out  preeminently  in  advance  of 
them.  In  it  all  the  man's  powers  of  action  and  of  lan- 
guage, and  the  influence  of  all  his  separate  arguments  that 
now  for  the  last  time  are  summed  up  into  a  unity,  seem 
to  be  concentrated  like  rays  of  light  in  a  focus,  and  flashed 
forth  for  the  enlightenment  or  bewilderment  of  those  before 
him.  But  the  most  artistic  oration  does  not  end  with  the 
climax.  At  least,  a  few  sentences  and  sentiments  follow 
this,  through  which  the  action,  voice,  and  ideas  of  the 
speaker  gradually,  gracefully,  and  sympathetically  descend 
to  bear  the  thoughts  of  his  audience  back  again  to  the  plane 
from  which  they  started.  That  is  to  say,  the  artistic  oration 
has  an  end  as  well  as  a  beginning  and  a  middle.  It  is  a 
representation  in  complete  organic  form  of  the  whole  range 
of  experience  natural  to  discussion,  from  the  time  when  a 
subject  is  first  broached  in  ordinary  conversation  to  the 
time  when,  having  been  argued  fully  and  in  such  ways  as  to 
produce  a  single  effect,  the  mind  in  exhaustion  sinks  back, 
once  more,  to  the  level  of  the  conversation  that  suggested 
it. — The  Genesis  of  Art-Form^  vi. 

ORATORY,  ARTIFICIALITY  IN  {see  also  ELOCUTION  TEACHERS). 

Artificiality,  in  speaking,  invariably  resiilts  from  paying 
attention,  and,  therefore,  giving  importance  to  something 
that  should  be  treated  as  if  of  little  or  no  importance. — 
Essay  on  Elocution  in  the  Theological  Seminary. 

ORATORY  AS  DISTINGUISHED  FROM  POETRY. 

Oratory  involves  some  of  the  representative  character- 
istics not  only  of  elocution  but  also — and  here  it  is  at  one 


220  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

with  rhetoric — of  poetry.  Like  the  latter,  both  oratory  and 
rhetoric  result  in  an  external  product.  But,  counteract- 
ing this  latter  fact,  is  another  which  causes  both  to  differ 
not  only  from  the  dramatic  art  but  equally  from  music, 
poetry,  painting,  sculpture,  and  architecture.  It  is  the  fact 
that,  at  its  best,  neither  public  address  nor  rhetoric  is  at- 
tributable, as  we  have  found  to  be  true  of  the  effects  of 
these  arts,  to  the  satisfaction  derived  from  elaborating 
a  form  of  expression  as  a  thing  of  beauty  aside  from  an 
end  of  utility.  Oratory  invariably  springs  from  a  desire 
to  influence,  in  certain  definite  directions,  the  thoughts 
and  feelings  of  those  to  whom  it  is  addressed.  This  fact 
makes  its  rhetoric  differ  from  poetry  no  less  than  its  delivery 
does  from  acting.  Anything  that  attracts  attention  merely 
to  the  manner  of  expression,  to  form  as  form,  is  injurious 
both  to  oratory  and  to  rhetoric  per  se.  But  it  is  often  essen- 
tial to  the  effects  of  the  actor  and  the  poet. — Art  in  Theory, 

IX. 

ORATORY,  EXPRESSIVE  OF  WILL. 

Emotion  influencing  mainly  the  feelings,  leads  to  music; 
influencing  the  thoughts  to  poetry;  influencing  the  will 
to  oratory.  The  orator  strives  to  give  expression  to 
feelings  or  thoughts  not  for  the  sake  of  their  own  intrinsic 
worth  or  beauty,  but  for  their  influence  upon  others.  As 
already  pointed  out,  oratory  is  not  so  much  an  aesthetic  as 
a  practical  art.  As  soon  as  the  speaker  loses  all  hope  of 
causing  others  to  agree  with  him,  he  ceases  to  harangue 
them. — Idem,  xix. 

ORATORY  OF  WENDELL  PHILLIPS. 

The  orator  who,  with  the  least  appearance  of  effort,  could 
produce  the  most  satisfactory  effects  both  of  time  and  of 
modulation  was  Wendell  Phillips.  He  could  measure  off  his 
rhythm  without  any  suggestion  of  monotony  in  recurrence; 
and  could  pass  over  all  the  notes  of  two  octaves  so  subtly  that 
half  of  his  audience  would  be  willing  to  take  oath  that  he 
had  not  varied  his  intonations  by  more  than  two  or  three 
intervals.  If  a  natural  effect  be  the  perfection  of  art,  then 
he  was  the  most  artistic  elocutionist  of  his  day. — The 
Representative  Significance  of  Form,  xxiii. 

ORATORY,  ONE  SECRET  OF  SUCCESS  IN  IT. 

The  late  Dr.  Tyng,  formerly  rector  of  St.  George's 
Church,  New  York,  said  that  the  secret  of  his  success  as  a 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  221 

public  speaker  was  his  imagining  everyone  before  him  to 
be  a  numskull  to  whom  every  little  statement  must  be 
explained. — Essay  on  the  Function  of  Technique. 

ORATORY  vs.  CONVERSATION    {sCC   ELOCUTIONARY). 

When  a  man  turns  from  conversation  to  public  address, 
he  has  departed  from  the  conditions  of  nature;  and  unless  he 
have  that  rare  artistic  temperament  which  enables  excep- 
tional minds  to  recognize  instinctively  the  new  relationships 
and  proportionments,  each  to  each,  of  the  elementary 
elements  of  expression,  he  cannot  restore  these  conditions 
except  as  he  acquires  skill  through  following  the  directions  of 
some  instructor  who  has  such  a  temperament. 

Successfully  changing  private  speech  into  public  speech 
involves  much  the  same  process  as  turning  a  bug  into 
a  bird  through  the  use  of  a  microscope.  If  you  merely 
put  one  edge  of  the  glass  over  his  head,  or  tail,  or  wing,  this 
appears  too  large  for  the  rest  of  his  body.  Only  when  you 
hold  your  microscope  so  as  to  magnify  every  part  of  him 
alike  is  the  result  natural.  When  a  man  begins  to  talk  in 
public,  he  necessarily  departs  from  the  conditions  of  nature 
by  using  a  louder  and  higher  tone  and  more  breath.  As  a 
result,  he  feels  a  tendency,  at  the  end  of  every  long  sentence, 
to  lessen  his  force,  lower  his  pitch,  and  cease  to  vocalize 
all  his  breath.  But  if  he  yield  to  this  tendency,  which  now, 
as  you  notice,  has,  in  the  changed  conditions,  become  what, 
in  one  sense,  may  be  termed  natural,  he  produces,  as  in  what 
is  called  the  ministerial  tone,  a  series  of  intonations  entirely 
different  from  those  which,  in  a  far  more  important  sense, 
can  be  termed  natural. — Essay  on  the  Function  of  Technique. 

ORIGINALITY  AND  ECCENTRICITY  {see  STANDARDS  and  TASTE). 

Every  schoolboy,  musing  on  the  genius  of  his  recitation 
room,  believes  originality,  and  this  in  the  sense,  too,  of 
eccentricity,  to  be  not  alone  the  essential  but  almost  the 
only  requisite  for  success  in  art.  All  general  beliefs  are 
based  upon  truths.  This  belief  is  based  upon  the  require- 
ment that  the  artist  must  be  able  to  make  the  forms  of 
nature  after  which  he  models  conform  to  his  individual  men- 
tality. If  art  were  nature,  it  would  not  be  art ;  and  the  only 
possible  distinction  between  the  two  which  can  be  deter- 
mined by  the  conceptions  embodied  is  that  the  one  is  char- 
acteristic of  the  mind  of  the  Creator,  and  the  other  equally 
so  of  the  mind  of  man.    Now  one  whom  the  world  esteems 


222  AN  ART^PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

*'a.  character,"  and  with  whom  therefore  it  associates  an 
essential  capacity  for  characterization,  is,  par  excellence,  a 
man  whose  individuality  is  distinct  and  definite.  The 
characteristic  effects  are  sometimes  produced  by  traits  that 
are  merely  eccentric.  But  whatever  may  produce  them, 
they  are  apt  to  render  any  individualization  of  nature  that 
he  attempts,  distinct  and  definite.  Therefore,  the  artist  and 
the  eccentric  character  have  something  in  common ;  and  the 
boy's  mistake  in  judging  of  the  genius  of  his  school,  is  only 
that  which  is  common  with  his  elders, — namely,  that  of  tak- 
ing something  to  be  everything. — The  Representative 
Significance  of  Form,  xiv. 

Another  thought  is  suggested.  The  tendencies  to  imita- 
tion on  the  one  side  and  to  eccentricity  on  the  other,  which 
have  been  said  to  characterize  the  developments  of  art 
where  there  is  no  belief  in  approximately  definite  stand- 
ards, is  connected  with  a  false  conception  of  what  consti- 
tutes that  originality  which  everybody  acknowledges  to 
be  essential  to  great  art.  It  is  the  conception  that  origi- 
nality is  a  constituent  of  mere  form.  Originality  of  course 
is  a  characteristic  of  form,  in  which  alone  it  can  be  mani- 
fested; but  the  artistic  originality  which  men  mean  to 
applaud  when  they  speak  of  it,  is  originality  of  form  as 
expressive  of  significance,  originality  that  is  felt  to  be  a 
manifestation  of  mental  freshness  and  uniqueness,  therefore 
of  what  we  term — including  in  our  conceptions  both  the 
intellectual  and  the  spiritual — personal  force.  That  it  is 
this  force  issuing  from  the  sources  of  the  soul  to  which  men 
mean  to  refer  when  praising  originality,  needs  no  further 
proof  than  that  the  trait  which  they  praise  is  not  always 
prevented  by  imitation  of  form,  nor  always  helped  by  eccen- 
tricity of  form.  An  actor  can  show  his  personal  originality 
by  imitating;  and  a  very  bashful  man  can  entirely  hide 
his  by  eccentricity.  Notice,  too,  that  the  argument  against 
the  existence  of  standards  of  art  founded  on  the  supposi- 
tion that  they  may  interfere  with  originality  has,  for  the 
reasons  just  stated,  no  basis  in  fact.  To  make  external 
forms  conform  to  a  standard  is  not  to  interfere  with  the 
expression  of  the  originality  which  is  of  the  soul  and  mind. 
Through  an  application  of  identical  methods,  one  may  give 
an  elocutionary  education  to  two  men,  making  the  voices 
of   both   equally   musical   and   their   movements   equally 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  223 

graceful.  Yet  the  method  as  carried  out  in  the  forms 
manifested  by  the  one  may  make  him  a  great  and  original 
actor,  and  the  personality  behind  the  forms  manifested  by 
the  other  may  result  in  no  greatness  or  originality  what- 
ever. At  the  same  time,  the  first  man,  with  all  the  origi- 
nal bent  of  his  genius,  could  not  have  become  the  great 
artist  that  he  is,  without  learning  to  conform  his  repre- 
sentation to  the  standards  of  his  art. — Proportion  and 
Harmony  of  Line  and  Color,  xxvi. 

ORIGINALITY,     ARTISTIC. 

After  all,  the  difficulty,  in  our  age,  is  not  to  find  new 
methods  of  producing  genuinely  artistic  effects,  but  to  find 
artists  with  sufficient  originality  to  recognize  their  possi- 
bilities. Nor  is  there  a  surer  way  in  which  they  may  be  led 
to  realize  them  than  through  coming  to  know  and  feel  and 
embody  in  their  products  the  principle  that  all  art,  even 
constructively  considered,  should  be  representative. — 
Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts, 

XVIII. 

ORIGINALITY  IN  ARCHITECTURE  (^^e  ARCHITECTURE,  MODERN). 

As  has  been  suggested,  proportion,  in  its  character, 
is  not  only  simple  but  complex,  and  its  effects  cannot 
be  produced  on  a  large  scale  without  the  most  careful 
and  profound  study.  These  effects,  too,  are  still  capable  of 
further  development.  The  forms  of  Greek,  Gothic,  Moorish, 
Romanesque,  or  Renaissance  art  have  no  more  exhausted 
the  possibilities  of  architecture  than  analogous  develop- 
ments in  poetry,  painting,  or  music.  In  this  land  and  age, 
we  can,  and  should,  have  an  architecture  of  our  own,  to 
meet  the  requirements  of  our  climate,  as  the  Greek  may  not ; 
of  our  customs,  as  the  Gothic  may  not;  and  of  our  artistic 
instincts,  as  the  Queen  Anne  may  not.  Such  an  architecture 
can  be  thoroughly  original,  yet  if,  in  trying  to  make  it  so,  we 
neglect  the  principles  according  to  which  the  minds  that  are 
to  view  it  must  judge  of  it,  we  cannot  expect  it  to  commend 
itself  to  general  approval,  even  in  our  own  times,  and  much 
less  in  coming  times.  Whatever  may  be  the  nature  of  his 
designs,  the  architect  who  deals  with  shapes  must  remember 
that  shapes  fill  space  just  as  sounds  fill  time,  and  that  for  the 
purposes  of  art  the  appearances  of  similarly  related  measure- 
ments in  the  one  are  as  necessary  as  in  the  other.  In  short 
he  must  never  forget  that  which  it  has  been  found  necessary 


224  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

to  repeat  so  many  times  already,  that  the  fundamental 
principle  in  art  is  to  group  sizes  as  well  as  shapes  by  put- 
ting together  those  that,  if  not  as  wholes,  in  parts  at  least, 
can  be  made  to  seem  alike. — Proportion  and  Harmony  of 
Line  and  Color,  xiii. 

When  a  style  is  just  beginning  to  be  developed,  a  builder, 
having  learned  nothing  from  his  own  experience  or  that  of 
others,  ^  necessarily  makes  mistakes.  His  work  is  the 
expression  of  his  thought.  It  is  original;  but  not  always 
artistic.  Much  later  on,  in  the  development  of  the  style,  pre- 
cisely the  opposite  condition  is  found.  The  highest  con- 
ception of  the  builder  seems  to  be  that  his  forms  should 
be  modeled — not  partly,  which  would  be  unobjectionable, 
but  entirely, — upon  those  of  preceding  buildings,  ancient 
or  modern.  These  preceding  buildings  are  either  wholly 
copied  by  him,  in  which  case  the  new  product  is  a  mere  imi- 
tation ;  or  else  several  different  buildings  are  copied  in  part 
and  in  part  combined  with  other  forms  that  he  originates ; 
in  which  case,  because  the  method  in  accordance  with 
which  such  forms  as  he  combines  were  brought  together  by 
the  earlier  architects  is  not  known,  often  not  even  studied, 
his  new  product  is  incongruous.  Its  effects  are  produced 
with  too  little  regard  for  the  considerations  which  must 
have  influenced  those  who  produced  the  original  forms 
which  are  imitated — namely,  the  requirements  of  the  design 
of  the  bmlding  and  of  the  eye  and  mind  as  affected  by  great 
natural  laws  like  those  of  propriety,  proportion,  and  sym- 
metry.— Art  in  Theory,  ill. 

ORNAMENT  IN  ARCHITECTURE  (see  ARCHITECTURE,  FRAUD  IN). 

All  appropriate  ornamentation,  as  brought  out  in  **  Paint- 
ing, Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts," 
is  the  result  of  an  adaptation  of  means  to  ends.  A  roof,  for 
instance,  is  a  necessary  conclusion  in  the  case  of  every 
erection  designed  for  shelter;  but  towers  or  turrets  are  not. 
Upon  a  hillside  or  elevation,  a  tower  may  indicate  a  view; 
but  what  is  its  meaning  in  a  valley  or  surrounded  by  a 
forest?  Over  a  public  building  a  dome  may  suggest  a  hall 
beneath,  too  lofty  and  too  vast  to  enable  it  to  afford  support 
to  an  ordinary  roof;  but  of  what  is  it  significant  in  a  private 
house?  In  connection  with  a  mosque  or  church,  a  minaret 
or  spire  may  recall  a  "call  to  prayer,"  or  suggest  a  bell  or 
even  the  heaven  above;  but  who  can  understand  the  con- 


Cologne  Cathedral — Fagade 

See  pages  4,  9,  10,  15,  19,  73,  81-85,  89,  91,  162,  223-225^ 

316,  323-327 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  225 

nection  between  these  suggestions  and  a  warehouse? — The 
Representative  Significance  of  Form,  xxiv. 

The  representing  of  a  material  less  difficult  to  work  in 
material  which  is  more  difficult,  is  usually  considered  es- 
sential to  the  highest  artistic  success.  While  it  is  deemed 
appropriate,  for  instance,  to  make  a  stone  building  repre- 
sent, as  in  the  case  of  the  Greek  temple,  noticed  on  page 
376,  a  wooden  building,  it  is  not  deemed  so  to  make  a 
wooden  building  represent  a  stone  one,  or  to  make  a  wooden 
balustrade  look  like  a  brass  one,  or  stamped  paper  look  like 
bronze. — Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as  Repre- 
sentative Arts,  XXI. 

The  spire  of  a  church  enables  strangers  to  know  where 
to  find  a  place  of  worship.  But  in  part,  also,  especially 
as  it  has  been  developed,  it  is  monumental  and  ornamental. 
For  this  reason,  care  should  be  taken  to  have  it  appear  not 
essentially  cheaper  than  the  edifice  to  which  it  is  attached. 
As  a  rule,  a  stone  church  should  have  a  stone  steeple,  not  a 
wooden  one.  On  large  public  buildings,  again,  such  as 
schools  and  colleges,  a  cupola,  or  any  like  arrangement, 
can  accomplish  a  useful  purpose.  It  can  serve  for  a  clock 
tower,  belfry,  or  observatory.  But  if  it  cannot  do  this,  it 
would  generally  better  be  omitted.  The  same  can  be  said 
of  towers  on  houses  situated  in  city  streets,  where  they  are 
overtopped  by  surrounding  buildings,  or  placed  in  positions 
where  they  themselves  need  not  be  seen  from  a  distance,  or 
where  other  things  need  not  be  seen  from  them;  that  is  to 
say  where  there  is  no  possible  use  to  which  they  can  be  put. 
Only  where  architecture,  which  is  a  development  of  that 
which  is  useful  in  building,  turns  into  ornamental  features 
things  primarily  intended  to  be  of  use,  is  it  carrying  out  the 
principles  of  representative  art.  When  it  is  doing  any- 
thing else,  as  in  arbitrarily  introducing  unnecessary  features 
in  order  thus  to  obtain  something  that  can  be  made  orna- 
mental, it  is  in  danger  of  carrying  out  no  principles  of  art 
whatever. — Idem,  xix. 

PAINT,   EXCESS  OF,   IN  PICTURES. 

When  we  look  at  a  picture  in  which  the  drawing  or  color- 
ing is  defective,  causing  disproportion  in  the  parts,  un- 
atmospheric  sharpness  of  outline,  absence  of  shadowy 
gradation — above  all,  a  predominating  impression  of  paint 
everywhere — the  effect  is  exactly  like  that  of  powder  and 


226  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

rouge  on  a  woman's  face.     It  is  impossible  to  see  any  soul 
through  or  past  the  form. — Essay  on  Art  and  Education. 

PAINTERS,  IF  GREAT,  ARE  USUALLY  DISCOVERERS. 

With  scarcely  an  exception,  the  greatest  painters  seem  to 
have  attained  to  fame  almost  as  much  on  account  of  their 
discoveries  as  of  their  productions,  the  inspiration  to 
investigation  having  apparently  proved  the  surest  stimu- 
lus to  invention.  At  least,  it  can  be  said  that  the  two 
tendencies  have  gone  hand  in  hand;  and  undoubtedly 
the  frequent  temporary  decline  of  painting,  as  of  every  art, 
immediately  after  great  achievements,  has  been  attributa- 
ble in  part  to  the  supposition  of  men  of  genius  that  all  its 
secrets  had  been  discovered, — a  supposition  which  has 
caused  them  to  turn  from  it  to  pursuits  like  philosophy, 
science,  or  politics,  which  seemed  at  the  time  to  promise 
a  more  certain  reward  for  original  effort. — Proportion  and 
Harmony  of  Line  and  Color,  xvii. 

PAINTING  {see  COLOR,  HARMONY  OF  COLOR,  REPRESENTATIVE 
EFFECTS  OF  COLORS). 

"  PAINTING,     SCULPTURE,    AND     ARCHITECTURE    AS    REPRE- 
SENTATIVE  ARTS,"    ANALYSIS   OF   THE    BOOK. 

(Recapitulation:)  In  the  volume  entitled  "Painting, 
Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,"  first 
through  an  analysis  of  the  elements  of  visible  representation, 
it  is  shown  that  large  size  or  deep  shading  in  certain  features, 
when  connected  with  the  opposite  in  other  features,  sug- 
gests, whether  in  landscapes,  figures,  or  buildings,  either  con- 
ceptions or  surroundings  characterized  by  such  traits  as 
heaviness,  strength,  immobility,  influence,  or  nearness ;  and, 
again,  that  outlines  formed  by  the  continuity  of  curves,  and 
also  those  manifesting  irregularity,  suggest  the  normal  and 
natural  in  landscapes,  and  the  free  and  unconstrained  in 
figures,  whereas  straightness,  angularity,  and  regularity 
suggest  the  abnormal  and  artificial,  as  in  effects  of  vol- 
canic action  in  nature,  of  self-conscious  and  constrained 
action  in  men,  and  of  rectangularity  in  buildings  and  in 
most  other  human  constructions.  In  unfolding  this  sub- 
ject, the  principles  shown  to  underlie  other  forms  of  visi- 
ble representation  are  applied  to  a  complete  system  of 
expressing  thoughts  and  emotions  through  the  shapes, 
postures,  gestures,  and  facial  movements  of  the  human 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  227 

body.     Following  this,  comes  a  discussion  of  the  repre- 
sentative significance  of  the  different  colors. 

The  concluding  part  of  the  book  treats  of  the  repre- 
sentation of  mental  conceptions  and  also  of  material  sur- 
roundings in  compositions  as  wholes;  first,  in  landscape, 
portrait,  genre,  historic,  allegoric,  and  symbolic  painting 
and  sculpture,  and,  after  this,  in  architecture.  In  discuss- 
ing this  latter  art,  it  is  shown  that  the  constructive  con- 
ception, as  well  as  the  plan,  can  be  represented  in  the 
interior  and  exterior  of  a  building;  and,  in  a  series  of  illus- 
trations presenting  various  huts  and  tents  as  constructed 
by  the  natural  man  side  by  side  with  columns,  pediments, 
entablatures,  arches,  roofs,  and  spires  of  perfected  art,  it 
is  shown  that  the  latter  are  developed  from  the  former 
through  a  picturesque  and  statuesque  and,  in  this  sense, 
representative  motive. — Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line 
and  Color,  xxvi. 

PAINTING  vs.   DECORATIVE  ART  {see  also  DECORATIVE). 

We  may  be  sure  that  any  theory  true  as  applied  to  one 
art  is  in  analogy  to  that  which  is  true  of  every  other  art  of 
the  same  class;  and  I,  for  one,  refuse  to  take  from  the  art 
of  painting  its  right  to  be  classed  among  the  other  higher 
arts.  Why  does  it  rank  with  the  humanities,  and  not  with 
the  merely  decorative  arts  ? — why,  but  because  its  products 
so  distinctively  give  expression  to  human  thought, — in 
other  words,  so  unmistakably  suggest  significance? — Essay 
on  Art  and  Education. 

PAINTING     vs.     LANDSCAPE      GARDENING      {see      LANDSCAPE 
GARDENING.) 

When  we  recall  what  an  inartistic  impression  is  frequently 
conveyed  by  the  reproducing  in  a  picture  of  a  highly  culti- 
vated park,  or  of  a  gentleman's  homestead, — the  house 
architecturally  correct,  and  the  avenues  leading  to  it  as 
clearly  drawn  as  the  lines  of  a  geometric  figure, — then  we 
may  understand  with  some  definiteness  what  is  meant  by 
confounding  the  conceptions  to  be  expressed  in  landscape- 
gardening  and  in  painting.  Both  ought  to  represent,  as 
all  art  should,  the  effects  of  nature  at  first  hand;  but,  in  the 
case  of  pictures  such  as  those  just  mentioned,  there  is  danger 
that  the  main  impression  conveyed  will  be  of  the  effects  upon 
nature  of  some  man,  of  some  landscape-artist.  And  reflec- 
tion will  convince  us  that  this  is  the  reason — certainly  a  suf- 


328  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

ficient  one — why  such  pictures  often  appear  inartistic.  They 
manifest,  to  too  great  an  extent,  the  influence  of  a  method 
of  representation  appropriate  to  another  art. — The  Repre- 
sentative Significance  of  Form,  xxvii. 

PAINTING  VS.  POETRY,  COMPARISON  AND   CONTRAST  IN  EACH 

(see  also  contrast,  and  poetic  description). 
The  difference  in  painting  between  high  and  ordinary  art 
is  revealed  in  the  contrast  between  the  picture  and  nature. 
In  passing  through  the  mediumship  of  the  man,  that  which 
came  from  nature  has  been  changed.  Each  change  has  been 
wrought  by  an  idea,  and  all  the  changes  together  indicate 
a  contrast  between  what  nature  really  is  and  the  artist's  idea 
of  what  it  might  be.  Here,  at  the  very  beginning  of  the 
mental  tendency  that  is  represented  in  painting,  we  have 
a  beginning  of  that  principle  of  contrast  that  enters  so 
largely  into  the  painter's  success  when  using,  in  a  merely 
technical  way,  the  elements  of  light  and  shade  and  color. 
While  poetry,  as  in  .  .  .  picturesque  language  .  .  .  uses  com- 
parison with  only  occasional  contrast,  painting  uses  both 
in  very  nearly  like  proportions.  This  more  extensive  use 
in  painting  of  contrast  might  be  considered  of  merely  theo- 
retic importance,  were  it  not  for  that  which  necessarily 
accompanies  it.  This  is  the  fact  that  the  natural  appear- 
ances treated  in  painting  are,  as  a  rule,  perceived  outside 
the  mind,  whereas  those  referred  to  in  poetry  have  been 
already  stored  inside  the  mind.  Painters  and  sculptors  re- 
produce scenes  or  figures  perceived  in  the  external  world 
and  they  do  this  through  using  an  external  medium  like 
canvas  or  marble.  Poets  recall  what  they  have  heard  of 
events  or  of  men,  like  a  battle  or  a  Wellington,  and  repro- 
duce this  through  using  words.  Words  contain  not  what  is 
external  to  the  mind,  but  what  is  in  it.  The  bearing  of 
these  facts  is  extremely  important  when  considered  in 
relation  to  the  conceptions  appropriate  for  treatment  in 
the  different  arts.  As  applied  to  poetry,  the  facts  seem  to 
rule  out  of  its  domain  any  descriptive  details  other  than 
those  of  such  prominence  that  a  man  observing  them 
might  reasonably  be  supposed  to  have  been  able  to  retain 
them  in  memory, — other  than  details — to  state  it  differently 
— which  have  been  stored  in  the  mind,  and  are  brought  to 
consciousness  because,  apparently,  the  most  important 
factors  entering  into  the  general  mental  effect.     In  accord- 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  229 

ance  with  this  principle,  it  was  shown  in  Chapter  XXII. 
of  the  author's  "Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art"  that 
the  descriptions  of  Homer  are  all  mental,  fragmentary, 
specific,  and  typical.  As  contrasted  with  poetry,  painting 
and  sculpture  represent  not  that  which  is  inside  the  mind, 
and  may  be  recalled  in  the  order  of  time,  but  that  which  is 
outside  the  mind,  and  may  be  perceived  in  the  arrangements 
of  space.  Poetry,  though  it  should  not  directly  represent 
space,  yet  may  indirectly  suggest  it.  Painting  and  sculp- 
ture may  suggest,  though  they  should  not  directly  repre- 
sent, time. — Essentials  of  Esthetics,  x. 

PAINTING    VS.    POETRY.       CONSCIOUS    VS.  INSTINCTIVE   WORK 

IN  EACH. 

Painting  and  sculpture  reveal  much  more  plainly  than 
either  music  or  poetry  that  the  mind  has  been  moved  by 
some  outward  form  which  they  imitate.  But  they  necessi- 
tate, and,  in  a  sense  not  true  of  either  of  the  arts  of  sound, 
they  show  that  they  necessitate,  great  conscious  effort  on 
the  part  of  the  intellect  in  arranging  outlines,  in  coloring 
canvases,  or  in  shaping  marbles,  so  as  to  make  the  forms 
which  are  imitated  embody  the  mind's  ideas.  If  the  influ- 
ence be  strong  enough,  musical  melodies  and  poetic  passages 
seem  to  spring  to  the  lips  instinctively.  However  strong 
it  be,  pictures  and  statues  do  not  fall  into  shape  except  as 
a  result  of  thoughtful  work,  which  is  due  to  the  mind 
and  not  to  that  which  affects  it  from  without;  work,  in 
other  words,  in  connection  with  which  the  ideas  within 
the  mind  emphasize  their  own  separate  existence. — Art 
in  Theory,  xvii. 

PAINTING    vs.   POETRY,   SUBJECTS    OF  EACH    {see  also  POETIC 
DESCRIPTION). 

Poetry  represents  phases  of  consciousness  moving,  one 
after  another,  in  time.  So  its  medium  of  representation  is 
in  words  which  also  move.  These  are  peculiarly  fitted  to 
present  the  various  consecutive  thoughts  suggested,  as  well 
as  the  events  detailed,  in  a  story.  Painting,  on  the  other 
hand,  represents  an  influence  of  fixedness  such  as  appeals  to 
the  eye.  A  painter's  first  impulse  is  always  to  represent 
shapes  as  he  sees  them,  and  hence  in  space.  A  child  with  a 
pencil  in  hand,  so  far  as  he  can  draw  at  all,  thinks  of  nothing 
but  shapes.  But  once  present  his  mind  with  the  details, 
whether  appealing  to  the  mind  or  to  the  eye,  of  that  which 


230  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

forms  the  substance  o£  a  story,  and  he  is  tempted  to  rep- 
resent them  also  with  brush  or  pencil. — The  Representative 
Significance  of  Form,  xxvii. 

It  need  not  be  inferred  that  painters  can  never  draw  their 
subjects  from  poetry,  or  poets  from  painting.  It  need 
merely  be  inferred  that  there  should  be  a  difference  in  the 
ways  in  which  the  two  arts  treat  the  same  subject. — Idem, 

XXVII. 

PAINTING  VS.  SCULPTURE,  EXPRESSION  IN. 

Painting,  is  better  fitted  to  suggest  time  than  is  sculpture. 
This  is  so  because  painting,  as  a  rule,  can  represent  a  larger 
space  than  sculpture, — a  space  filled  with  more  objects 
and  figures  and  indicating,  therefore,  more  interchange 
between  them  of  cause  and  effect.  .  .  .  We  seldom  see 
in  a  picture  a  figure  that  stands  out  from  all  surrounding 
figures,  asserting  such  claims  to  preeminent  and  exclusive 
attention  as  is  common  in  groups  of  statuary.  Continu- 
ing this  line  of  thought,  we  shall  soon  recall  how  super- 
latively we  have  enjoyed  certain  statues,  for  the  very 
reason,  apparently,  that  they  were  placed  so  that  one 
could  view  them  apart  from  anything  else, — statues  that 
stand  in  rows,  or  in  alcoves  by  themselves. — Essentials  of 
^Esthetics,  x. 

PAINTING  VS.  SCULPTURE,  THEIR   SUBJECTS. 

The  difference  between  that  which  is  appropriately 
represented  in  painting  and  in  sculpture  is  very  truthfully 
suggested,  though  not  entirely  indicated,  by  the  difference, 
which  all  recognize,  between  the  meaning  of  the  terms 
picturesque  and  statuesque.  The  picturesque,  as  defined 
on  page  280,  involves  a  conception  of  much  and  minute 
variety.  And  this  is  just  what  painting  involves.  The 
color  that  is  used  in  it,  and  not  in  sculpture,  is  never  well 
applied  unless  it  imitates  the  influences  of  light  and  shade 
in  nature  to  such  a  degree  as  to  cause  slight  differences 
at  almost  every  perceptible  point.  Besides  this,  color 
enables  the  artist  to  separate,  one  from  another,  and  thus 
to  represent  clearly,  a  very  large  number  of  small  details 
most  of  which  would  be  indistinguishable  if  an  attempt 
were  made  to  indicate  them  in  sculpture.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  statuesque  involves  the  conception  of  something 
that  stands  out  by  itself, — something  that,  because  it  has 
bulk  or  body,  can  be  looked  at  from  every  side.     Even 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  231 

when  the  term  applies  to  the  sculpture  of  mere  relief,  the 
solidity  of  the  medium  that  is  used  in  it,  and  not  in  paint- 
ing, tends  to  separate  every  contour  from  every  other  by 
emphatically  defined  outlines.  These  outlines,  too,  must 
be  comparatively  few  in  number  and  the  objects  which 
they  delineate  comparatively  large  in  size.  Thus  the 
limitations  of  the  material  used  in  each  of  the  arts  deter- 
mine the  limitations  of  the  subjects  which  it  and  it  alone 
can  appropriately  embody.  On  account  of  the  minute 
representative  possibilities  of  color,  one  can  make  a  paint- 
ing of  a  landscape,  and  can  crowd  into  a  small  compass 
a  large  number  of  figures  and  faces,  appearing  almost 
immediately  beside  or  behind  one  another.  In  sculpture, 
landscape  is  wellnigh  impossible,  and  so  is  any  extensive 
grouping  of  figures.  Even  such  figures  as  can  be  brought 
together  must,  owing  to  the  uniformity  of  color,  be  very 
distinctly  separated,  and,  as  artistic  effects  produced 
through  variety  of  hues  are  impossible,  compensating 
artistic  effects  through  the  use  of  outlines  become  impera- 
tive. Hence  parallelism,  continuity,  balance,  symmetry', 
and  kindred  methods  of  aesthetically  accenting  the  require- 
ments of  contour  become  more  prominent. — The  Represen- 
tative Significance  of  Form,  xxvii. 

A  picture  and  a  statue  may  both  imitate  the  same  model. 
When  we  look  at  the  former,  we  instinctively  think  of  the 
model.  When  we  look  at  the  latter,  we  often  think  only  of 
the  effects  that  human  nature  in  general  has  had  upon  form 
in  the  abstract.  While  painting  may  represent  only  a 
person,  sculpture  is  more  likely  to  represent  a  personage. — 
Art  in  Theory,  xix. 

Painting  that  depicts  leaves,  flowers,  fruit,  and  children, 
or  grown  people  as  doing  very  trifling  things,  may  rank 
high,  because  manifesting  a  high  degree  of  skill  in  drawing 
and  coloring.  The  more  minute  the  factors  with  which  both 
of  these  deal,  the  more  difficult,  often,  is  it  to  attain  success. 
Besides  this,  almost  any  scene  which  painting  depicts 
includes  a  very  large  number  of  different  objects;  and 
these  to  an  extent  may  compensate  in  quantity  for  what 
the  general  subject  lacks  in  quaUty.  But  in  sculpture  the 
conditions  are  different.  There  is  almost  no  comparison 
between  carving  the  wreath  of  a  column's  capital  and  the 

» See  chart  on  page  89  of  this  volume. 


232  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

contour  of  a  human  body;  and,  if  the  latter  have  to  be 
carved  at  all,  the  difficulty  of  the  work,  the  permanence 
of  the  material,  and  the  fact  that  the  body,  when  com- 
pleted, is  to  be  the  sole  object  of  attention,  all  combine 
to  make  it  seem  especially  inappropriate  to  have  it  repre- 
sent a  trivial  subject.  It  ought  to  be  a  dignified  subject, 
or,  in  lieu  of  that,  at  least  a  subject  treated  in  a  dignified 
way.  As  for  the  dignity  of  the  subject,  notice  that,  in  a 
sense  not  true  of  painting,  it  is  appropriate  that  the  figure 
delineated  should  be  represented  in  a  form  greatly  exag- 
gerated. Very  large  pictures  .  .  .  sometimes  offend  us 
by  their  very  size;  and  it  is  almost  impossible  to  conceive 
of  an  attractive  picture  with  figures  of  heroic  proportions. 
But  the  "Moses"  of  Angelo  or  the  "Liberty  Enlighten- 
ing the  World"  in  New  York  do  not  offend  us.  On  the 
contrary,  very  small  pictures,  as  in  miniatures,  are  often 
extremely  pleasing  and  valuable.  But  most  of  us  cannot 
avoid  feeling,  when  we  see  the  bronze  doors  of  the  Capitol 
at  Washington,  that  the  small  size  of  the  figures  makes 
the  work  expended  upon  them  hardly  worth  while,  because 
such  subjects  could  have  been  represented  so  much  more 
satisfactorily  in  pictures. — The  Representative  Significance  of 
Form,  xxvii. 

An  art  is  always  fulfilling  its  best  possibilities  when  it  is 
doing  that  which  it  and  it  alone  can  do.  What  painting  can 
do  and  sculpture  cannot,  is  to  produce  effects  through  the 
use  of  pigments.  What  sculpture  can  do  and  painting  can- 
not, is  to  produce  effects  through  the  use  of  bulk,  including 
outlines  representing  length,  breadth,  and  thickness. — Idemy 

XXVII. 

PARTHENON,   THE,   AS  A   MODEL. 

It  is  ordinarily  supposed  that  the  Parthenon  represents 
the  highest  point  of  perfection  reached  by  Greek  archi- 
tecture. It  does,  and  yet  it  was  the  beginning  of  a  decline, 
just  as  we  recognize  to  have  been  the  case  with  the  poetry 
of  Milton  and  the  music  of  Wagner,  when  we  notice  the 
effects  that  the  works  of  each  produced  upon  their  followers 
and  imitators.  The  Parthenon  is  the  building  which  mod- 
ern people  have  studied  and  imitated  most  in  their  efforts 
to  understand  and  apply  the  Greek  methods.  They  ought 
to  have  it  impressed  upon  their  minds  that  those  who  first 
began  to  study  and  imitate  it  were  the  ones  who  began 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  233 

that  very  process  of  degeneracy  in  art,  the  current  of  which 
it  is  now  supposed  by  some  that  a  return  to  Greek  methods 
can  stem. — Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color,  xii. 

PERCEPTIBLE,  ART  DEALS  WITH  THE. 

Art  either  accepts  forms  as  wholes,  or  it  regards  them  as 
combined  or  developed  out  of  their  more  prominently  per- 
ceptible parts. — The  Representative  Significance  of  Form,  viii. 

This  is  the  same  as  to  say  that  art  derives  its  conceptions 
from  the  effective  features  of  objects,  sometimes  from  only 
one  feature,  but,  if  from  more,  in  all  cases,  from  those  which 
are  the  most  perceptible. — Idem. 

PERSONAL    AND    SYMPATHETIC    EFFECTS    OF    ART    {sec    also 
GENIUS,  INDIVIDUALITY,  SUBCONSCIOUS,  and  SYMPATHY). 

Now  we  come  upon  two  apparently  anomalous  facts. 
One  might  suppose  that  representation,  exerting,  as  it 
does,  an  indirect  influence,  would  reveal  less  of  an  artist's 
character,  and  would  also  appeal  less  to  the  sympathies  of 
others,  than  would  presentation,  exerting,  as  it  does,  a 
direct  influence.  But  the  truth  seems  to  be  the  contrary. 
Nor,  when  we  think  a  moment,  will  it  seem  surprising  that 
this  is  so.  As  applied  to  the  revelation  of  character,  it  is 
simply  a  fact  that  all  of  us,  in  determining  what  a  man  is 
in  his  spirit,  intentionally  or  unintentionally,  judge  him  by 
what  he  appears  to  be  in  his  subconscious  rather  than  in  his 
conscious  nature;  therefore  more  by  what  he  unconsciously 
represents  of  himself  than  by  what  he  consciously  presents. 
This  is  true  in  every  relation  of  life.  No  man  ever  fell  in  love 
with  a  woman  because  of  her  words  or  deeds  that  he  sup- 
posed attributable  to  conscious  intention.  So  with  the 
products  of  art.  The  most  professionally  trained  dancers 
and  singers  who  prove  fascinating  to  us  do  so  because  of 
slight  unconscious  peculiarities  of  movement  in  body  or 
voice  which  are  characteristic  of  them  as  individuals,  and 
cannot  be  acquired  by  another  with  another  personality. 
This  fact  is  true  of  the  effects  of  any  kind  of  expression 
embodied  in  any  kind  of  form.  The  chief  charm  of  a  melody, 
poem,  painting,  or  statue,  even  of  a  building,  often  lies  in 
certain  subtle  touches  given  to  it  by  its  producer  uncon- 
sciously,— ^in  characteristics  which  it  is  sometimes  impossible 
for  the  critic  to  analyze  or  even  to  describe.  Yet  it  is  these 
touches  that  most  surely  convey  the  impression  of  the 
artist's  individuality.     Need  it  be  said  that  they  do  not 


234  AN  ART-PHILOSOPUERS  CABINET 

present  his  conscious  intention  ?  They  represent  his  uncon- 
scious method,  a  method  that  he  cannot,  so  to  speak,  avoid. 
Closely  connected  with  the  apparent  anomaly  just  con- 
sidered is  the  other  of  which  mention  was  made.  One 
might  suppose  that  indirect  representation — i.  e.  expres- 
sion made  through  the  use  of  forms  not  at  all  associated 
with  those  of  one's  own  body — would  appeal  less  to  the 
sympathies  of  others  than  would  direct  expression,  or 
what  has  been  termed  presentation.  But  this  supposition, 
again,  would  not  be  entirely  correct.  Owing  to  the  per- 
sonality of  effect  indicated  in  the  preceding  paragraph  as 
characterizing  representative  expression,  this  latter  some- 
times makes  a  stronger  appeal  to  the  sympathies  than 
does  the  other  form  of  expression.  We  all,  to  an  extent, 
recognize  this  fact  when  we  quote  with  approval  the  maxim 
that  actions  speak  louder  than  words.  As  applied  to  art, 
when  methods  characterizing  a  product  have  been  made 
characteristic  of  an  artist's  personality,  others  must  be 
influenced  by  his  work  as  they  would  be  by  his  person- 
ality. But  how  are  they  influenced  by  this  ?  How  do  any  of 
us  come  to  have  an  ideal — or  come  to  take  an  interest  of 
any  kind  in  anything — that  is  peculiar  to  the  personality 
of  another  ?  There  is  but  one  answer :  It  is  through  our  sym- 
pathies— a  word  which,  as  thus  used,  applies  primarily  to 
our  emotions,  but  includes  also  our  thoughts,  as  influenced 
by  these. — Essentials  of  Esthetics,  viii. 

PERSONALITY  AND  UNIVERSALITY  OF  REPRESENTATION. 

At  first  thought,  the  principle  previously  stated,  namely, 
that  the  art-product  is  successful  in  the  degree  in  which  the 
artist  represents  his  surroundings  in  such  ways  as  to  mani- 
fest his  own  personality,  by  which  must  often  be  meant  his 
individual  thoughts  and  emotions,  seems  to  conflict  with 
the  principle  just  unfolded,  which  attributes  his  success  to 
the  degree  in  which  the  conceptions  that  he  embodies  are 
not  merely  his  own,  but  those  of  others.  Second  thought, 
however,  will  convince  us  that  the  two  principles  conflict 
only  seemingly.  In  practical  experience,  no  one  has  any 
difficulty  in  recognizing  the  individuality  of  a  Raphael  and 
a  Shakespeare  in  almost  every  product  of  their  skill ;  yet  this 
does  not  prevent  the  product  from  being  an  accurate  repre- 
sentation of  nature  as  viewed  by  all  men.  Painters,  sculp- 
tors,   dramatists,    are    greatest    when    most    thoroughly 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  235 

themselves,  yet  greatest  also  when  their  minds,  like  mirrors, 
reflect  their  surroundings  in  such  ways  as  to  conform 
most  exactly  to  the  observations  of  people  in  general. 
The  reason  for  this,  of  course,  is  that  no  conceptions  of 
the  meanings  of  nature  can  be  universally  accepted,  except 
so  far  as  they  have  been  derived  from  the  appearances  of 
nature  as  universally  perceived. — Idem. 

PERSONALITY  AS  REPRESENTED  IN  ART  {seC  EXPRESSION  FOR 

expression's  sake). 
Art  of  the  highest  rank,  in  addition  to  representing  rather 
than  imitating  the  phenomena  of  nature,  and  to  repre- 
senting rather  than  communicating  thoughts  and  emo- 
tions, must  represent  rather  than  present  the  personality 
of  the  artist,  meaning  here  by  the  word  personality  that 
combination  of  spirit  and  body  which  belongs  to  oneself 
as  an  individual,  and  to  no  one  else.  To  understand 
why  personality  should  be  represented  rather  than  pre- 
sented, let  us  recall,  for  a  moment,  what  was  said  in  Chapter 
III.  There,  the  impulse  to  art  was  attributed  to  life-force 
or  energy  issuing  from  the  subconscious  or  spiritual  nature, 
and  striving  to  embody  itself  in  the  material.  We  all  know 
that  the  spiritual  itself  cannot  appear, — it  can  merely  repre- 
sent itself  in  the  material.  At  the  same  time,  of  course, 
representation  is  involved,  to  some  extent,  in  every  form  of 
expression.  All  thoughts  and  emotions,  as  they  exist  in  the 
mind,  are  inaudible  and  invisible,  and,  in  order  to  be  com- 
rnunicated  to  others,  they  must  be  symbolized  through  sights 
and  sounds  borrowed  from  nature.  But  there  is  a  different 
use  of  these  latter  in  ordinary  expression,  and  in  that  of  art. 
In  ordinary  expression,  it  is  sufficient  that  the  thoughts  and 
emotions  should  be  clearly  presented.  Upon  artistic  ex- 
pression, as  in  that  of  a  poem  or  a  statue,  years  of  labor 
are  frequently  expended  in  order  to  secure  a  result  beyond 
that  of  mere  clearness  of  expression.  Upon  what  is  it  that 
the  artist,  in  such  cases,  expends  his  labor?  Of  course  it 
must  be  upon  that  which  the  expression  contains  in  addition 
to  the  thoughts  and  emotions.  What  does  it  contain  in 
addition  to  these?  Nothing  more,  certainly,  than  the 
expressional  factors.  As  it  is  not  the  thoughts  and  emo- 
tions, it  must  be  the  expressional  factors  that  are  intended 
to  be  emphasized;  and  when  we  recall  that  it  is  the  expres- 
sional factors  that  are  repeated  in  art,  and  to  what  an  extent 


236  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

all  art  involves  repetition,  and  that,  as  a  rule,  repetition 
necessarily  emphasizes,  we  shall  recognize  the  truth  of 
this  inference.  Now  notice  that  these  effects  will  be 
emphatically  produced  in  the  degree  alone  in  which  the 
material  forms  which  one  uses  in  his  art  are  not  those 
belonging  to  his  own  material  body.  Every  man  gives 
expression  to  his  spirit  through  using  his  own  body.  To 
give  such  expression  in  the  most  emphatic  way,  one  must 
do  it  in  an  exceptional  way;  and  this  can  be  done  alone 
when,  unlike  ordinary  men,  he  uses  forms  that  are  not  an 
organic  part  of  his  own  nature  (see  page  lo).  Evidently, 
too,  in  this  case,  the  external  material  forms  thus  used 
cannot  be  said  to  present — they  merely  represent — himself. 
— Idem. 

PERSONALITY,  EFFECTS  OF,  IN  ART. 

In  all  the  arts,  as  we  know,  it  is  these  effects,  manifested 
in  what  the  artist  puts  into  his  product  or  leaves  out  of  it, 
that  largely  determine  its  quality,  that  differentiate,  for 
instance,  a  poet  from  a  reporter,  or  a  painter  from  a  photo- 
grapher. The  same  principle  is  illustrated  in  every  relation- 
ship in  the  world  in  which  one  life  touches  other  lives. 
It  is  the  bringing  of  one's  personality  to  bear  upon  his  sur- 
roundings, that  makes  a  man's  form  better  than  a  carcass, 
reveals  a  spirit  inside  of  a  body,  and  proves  that  life,  in  any 
sphere,  is  really  worth  the  living. — Essay  on  Music  as 
Related  to  Other  Arts. 

PERSPECTIVE  vs.  PROPORTION  (see  also  GENERAL  AND  DISTANT, 

and  PROPORTION  vs.  perspective). 

Perspective,  to  which  several  chapters  are  devoted,  has  to 
do  with  the  methods  of  arranging  real  outlines  and  with 
them,  of  course,  measurements,  so  as  to  have  them  pro- 
duce a  certain  desired  visual  result,  whereas  proportion 
has  to  do  with  the  measurements  as  they  appear  in  the 
result  after  perspective  has  produced  it. — Proportion  and 
Harmony  of  Line  and  Color,  Preface. 

Though  in  nature  the  measurements  of  an  object  may  ful- 
fil the  requirements  of  proportion,  they  may  not,  owing 
to  the  operation  of  the  laws  of  perspective,  fulfil  them  in 
the  image  which  this  object  produces  on  the  retina;  and, 
vice  versa,  though  in  nature  the  measurements  may  not 
fulfil  the  requirements  of  proportion,  they  may,  neverthe- 
less, owing  to  the  operations  of  the  laws  of  perspective, 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  237 

fulfil  them  in  this  image.  In  short,  as  applied  to  propor- 
tion as  to  many  other  artistic  features,  a  work  of  art, 
whether  a  painting,  a  statue,  or  a  building,  has  to  be  judged 
by  what  may  be  termed,  and  is,  in  this  sense,  its  subjective 
effect  after  it  has  begun  to  influence  the  eye  and  mind. — 
Idem.  IV. 

But  enough  has  now  been  said  to  verify  the  statement 
that  the  ancient  architects  in  order  to  fulfil  both  visual 
and  aesthetic,  both  physiological  and  psychical,  require- 
ments erected  their  buildings  with  primary  reference  to 
their  general  effects  when  seen  from  some  definite  point 
or  points  at  a  distance.  In  connection  with  this  it  has 
been  shown  also  that  these  architects  differed  materially 
with  reference  to  the  particular  methods  through  which 
to  secure  these  effects,  arriving  at  their  conclusions,  prob- 
ably, as  a  result  of  many  individual  experiences  and  ex- 
periments. 

Since  the  printing  of  the  first  edition  of  this  book,  Pro- 
fessor W.  H.  Goodyear  has  discovered  that  the  methods 
attributed  in  this  discussion  to  only  the  ancient  Greeks, 
the  Egyptians,  and  the  Romans,  were  used  also  by  the  early 
Gothic  architects.  He  himself  has  measured  eighty-five 
of  their  churches  in  Italy  which  have  floors  rising  between 
the  front  door  and  the  chancel,  sometimes,  three  feet,  while, 
often,  the  successive  key-stones  of  the  arches  between  the 
nave  and  the  aisles  descend  in  the  same  direction, — evi- 
dently to  increase  the  effect  of  distance  according  to  the  laws 
of  perspective.  To  what  extent  the  same  methods  are 
exemplified  in  the  Gothic  churches  of  northern  Europe,  has 
not  yet  been  determined. — Idem,  xv. 

PHILOSOPHICAL  TREATMENT  OF  ART  IN  AMERICA. 

Owing  to  a  lack  of  breadth  and  balance  characterizing 
the  practical  limitations  of  American  culture,  a  man  here 
who  tries  to  treat  art  philosophically  finds  his  way  blocked 
at  the  very  threshold  of  his  undertaking  by  two  almost 
insurmountable  obstacles.  One  is  that  few  of  our  philo- 
sophers have  had  sufficient  aesthetic  training  to  be  interested 
in  that  which  concerns  art ;  and  the  other  is  that  few  of  our 
artists — including  our  art-critics,  though  there  are  note- 
worthy exceptions — have  had  sufficient  philosophical  train- 
ing to  be  interested  in  that  which  concerns  philosophy. 
Accordingly,  as  a  rule,  the  philosopher  never  looks  at  the 


238  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

art-book  at  all;  and  the  art-critic,  on  whom  the  public 
rely  for  information  concerning  it,  does  so  merely  because 
he  cannot  dodge  what  is  tossed  directly  at  him  as  a  reviewer ; 
but  the  little  that  he  sees  of  it  he  usually  misapprehends 
and  very  frequently  misrepresents. — Rhythm  and  Harmony 
in  Poetry  and  Music,  Preface. 

PITCH,  AN  ELEMENT  BOTH  IN  MUSIC  AND   POETRY    (see  olso 
REPRESENTATIVE   EFFECTS   OF   PITCH) 

As  most  of  us  know,  science  has  ascertained  that  all 
musical  sounds  result  from  regularly  recurring  vibrations 
caused  by  cords,  pipes,  reeds,  or  other  agencies.  About 
thirty-three  of  these  vibrations  per  second  produce  the  low- 
est tone  used  in  music,  and  about  three  thousand  nine 
hundred  and  sixty,  the  highest.  That  the  number  of  vibra- 
tions in  any  note  may  be  increased  and  its  pitch  made 
higher,  it  is  necessary  to  lessen  the  length  or  size  of  the 
cord,  or  of  whatever  causes  the  vibrations.  When  the 
vibrating  cord  is  lessened  by  just  one  half,  the  tone  pro- 
duced is  separated  from  its  former  tone  by  an  interval  of 
sound  which  in  music  is  termed  an  octave.  Between  the 
two  extremes  of  pitch  forming  the  octave,  eleven  half 
tones,  as  they  are  called,  caused  by  sounds  resulting  from 
different  lengths  of  the  cord,  between  its  whole  length 
and  its  half  length,  have  been  selected,  for  reasons  to  be 
given  in  another  place,  and  arranged  in  what  is  termed  a 
musical  scale.  These  half-tones,  seven  of  them  constitut- 
ing the  dOy  re,  me,  fa,  sol,  la,  and  si  of  the  gamut,  are  all 
that  can  be  used  in  music  between  the  two  notes  form- 
ing the  octave.  There  are  about  seven  octaves  ...  of 
pitch  that  are  used  in  music.  In  the  speaking  voice 
only  about  two  octaves  are  used,  so  that  in  this  regard  its 
range  is  more  narrow  than  that  of  music.  Between  any  two 
octave  notes,  however,  the  speaking  voice  can  use  whatever 
sounds  it  chooses ;  it  is  not  confined  to  the  few  tones  that 
constitute  the  musical  scale.  For  instance,  the  note  of  the 
bass  voice  called  by  musicians  C,  is  sounded  by  producing 
one  hundred  and  thirty-two  vibrations  a  second,  and  C  of 
the  octave  above  by  producing  two  hundred  and  sixty-four 
vibrations.  Between  the  two,  therefore,  it  is  possible  to 
conceive  of  forming  one  hundred  and  thirty-one  distinct 
tones,  each  vibrating  once  a  second  oftener  than  the  sound 
below  it.     It  is  possible,  too,  to  conceive  that  the  speaking 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  239 

voice  can  use  any  of  these  tones.  Music,  however,  between 
the  same  octave  notes,  can  use  but  eleven  tones.  There- 
fore, the  different  degrees  of  pitch  used  in  speech,  though 
not  extending  over  as  many  octaves,  are  much  more  numer- 
ous than  those  used  in  music.  For  this  reason,  the  melo- 
dies of  speech  cannot  be  represented  by  any  system  through 
which  we  now  write  music.  There  are  not  enough  notes 
used  in  music  to  render  it  possible  to  make  the  represen- 
tation accurate.  Nor  probably  would  much  practical 
benefit  be  derived  from  an  attempt  to  construct  a  system 
of  speech-notation;  though  it,  like  other  things,  may  be 
among  the  possibilities  of  acoustic  development  in  the 
future. 

In  applying  to  poetic  form  the  principles  determining 
pitch  in  elocution,  let  us  take  up  first  those  in  accordance 
with  which  certain  syllables  are  uttered  on  a  high  or  low 
key.  The  former  key  seems  suggested  by  vowels  formed 
at  the  mouth's  front,  as  in  beet,  bate,  bet,  bit,  bat,  etc. ;  the 
latter  by  back  vowels,  as  in  fool,  full,  foal,  fall,  etc.  The 
best  of  reasons  underlies  this  suggestion.  It  is  the  fact  that 
the  pronunciation  of  every  front  or  back  vowel-sound 
naturally  tends  to  the  production  of  a  high  or  low  musical 
note.  Bonders  first  made  the  discovery  that  the  cavity 
of  the  mouth,  when  whispering  each  of  the  different  vow- 
els, is  tuned  to  a  different  pitch.  This  fact  gives  the 
vowel  its  peculiar  quality.  Instruments,  moreover,  have 
been  constructed,  by  means  of  which  most  sounds  can  be 
analyzed,  and  their  component  tones  distinctly  and  defi- 
nitely noted;  and  now  the  theory  is  accepted  that  the 
voice,  when  pronouncing  vowel-sounds,  at  whatever  key  in 
the  musical  scale  it  may  start  them,  has  a  tendency  to  sug- 
gest— if  not  through  its  main,  or  what  is  termed  its  prime 
tone,  at  least  through  associated,  or  what  are  termed  its 
partial  tones — that  pitch  which  is  peculiar  to  the  vowel 
uttered. — Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art,  viii. 

From  these  facts  two  inferences  follow :  First,  that  when- 
ever two  syllables,  whether  containing  sounds  of  different 
vowels  or  consonants  or  of  both,  are  uttered  in  succession, 
we  have  a  succession  of  tones  that  differ  in  pitch.  This  is 
the  same  as  to  say  that  whenever  we  use  consecutively 
words  that  are  not  pronounced  exactly  alike,  we  produce, 
in  just  as  true  a  sense  as  when  singing  a  melody,  an  effect 


240  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

of  passing  from  one  pitch  to  another.  The  second  infer- 
ence is  that  whenever  sounds  of  two  different  vowels  or 
of  vowels  and  consonants  that  constitute  a  syllable  are 
uttered  simultaneously,  they  produce  a  blending  of  tones 
that  differ  in  pitch,  or,  in  other  words,  an  effect  corre- 
sponding to  that  which  is  heard  in  musical  harmony. 
Indeed,  the  music  of  the  speaking  voice,  as  distinguished 
from  the  singing,  is  characterized  mainly  by  the  harmony 
that  results  from  this  blending  of  the  consonant-sounds 
with  the  vowel-sounds,  the  latter  being  often  in  singing 
the  only  sounds  that  are  heard,  and  always  the  only  sounds 
that  are  made  prominent.  Of  course,  too,  there  is  a  sense 
in  which  the  utterance  of  the  component  parts  of  any 
single  syllable,  especially  when  these  are  the  two  vowels 
of  a  diphthong,  resembles  more  an  effect  of  quality  than  of 
harmony.  But  sometimes,  as  in  the  case  of  an  inflection 
which  begins  at  one  pitch  and  ends  at  another,  there  are 
suggestions  of  harmony. — Rhythm  and  Harmony  in  Poetry 
and  Music,  xii. 

PLAY,  DRAMATIC  (see  MORALITY  AS  INFLUENCED  BY  DRAMAs). 

It  is  a  law  of  our  nature — that  the  sayings  and  scenes  by 
which  we  are  surrounded  produce  a  much  greater  effect  upon 
our  conduct  than  do  any  deductions  with  reference  to  them 
that  we  may  draw  in  our  own  minds.  This  is  the  principle 
that  a  thinker  is  obliged  to  apply  to  theatric  performances. 
It  is  the  language,  the  picture  of  life — in  short,  the  play  that 
is  the  thing  of  chief  importance — this  wholly  irrespective  of 
any  possible  moral  that  thinking  can  draw  from  it. — Essay 
on  Art  and  Morals. 

PLAY-IMPULSE  IN  ART  {see  ARCHITECTURE  ARTISTIC,  ART  IN 

THEORY,  and  EXPRESSION  FOR  EXPRESSION'S  SAKE). 

PLEASURE  AND  PAIN,  BOTH  PRODUCED  BY  ART. 

If  the  phases  of  expression  which  we  find  in  art,  and  which 
depend  on  such  conditions  as  physical  temperament  and 
personality,  be  recognized  to  involve  the  experience  and 
consequent  communication  of  sentiment, — a  term  imply- 
ing thought  as  prompted  by  emotion — i.  c,  an  intense 
degree  of  activity  of  both  thought  and  emotion — then  it 
seems  logical  to  recognize  also  that  very  often  art  must 
impart  great  pleasure.  For  of  what  is  pleasure  a  result,  if 
not  of  activity  that  is  unconscious  of  control  ?  Knowledge 
limits  both  our  feeling  and  our  thought,  but,  in  the  degree 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  841 

in  which  we  are  indulging  in  sentiment,  the  limits  are 
removed,  and  we  are  left  free  to  feel  and  to  imagine  what 
we  choose.  From  its  very  nature,  therefore,  sentiment 
implies  a  certain  degree  of  pleasure.  But  it  brings  con- 
scious freedom  so  far  only  as  this  can  be  experienced  in 
thought  .  .  .  and  we  may  derive  less  acute  enjoyment  from 
mental  than  from  physical  pleasure.  For  the  same  reason 
also,  when  a  work  of  art  enlists  our  sympathy  with  the 
suffering  and  the  fallen  (and,  in  the  degree  of  the  breadth  of 
our  culture,  with  more  subtle  phases  of  human  weakness 
and  wretchedness),  the  consciousness  which  we  often  have 
that  no  material  or,  so  to  speak,  bodily  effort  of  ours  can 
avert  troubles  of  this  kind,  imparts  to  the  freedom  even 
of  sentiment  a  limitation  that  results  in  the  effect  of  pathos 
or  of  horror.  To  say,  therefore,  that  the  objective  result 
of  the  artistic  tendency,  as  affected  by  the  physical  con- 
ditions underlying  temperament  and  personality,  is  senti- 
ment, enables  us  to  give  full  recognition  to  whatever  truth 
there  may  be  in  the  arguments  of  those  who  claim  that  the 
aim  of  art  is  pleasure;  and  it  enables  us  also,  at  the  same 
time,  to  explain  satisfactorily,  as  these  arguers  do  not,  both 
why  other  things  sometimes  afford  more  pleasure  than  art 
and  why  art  itself  sometimes,  as  in  the  pathetic  and  the 
tragic,  includes  the  painful. — The  Representative  Signifi- 
cance of  Forniy  xv. 

POET,   HIS   RELATIONS  WITH  NATURE. 

Language  involves,  as  we  have  found,  a  representation 
of  mental  facts  and  processes  through  the  use  of  analogous 
external  facts  and  processes,  which  alone  are  apprehensible 
to  others,  and  which  alone,  therefore,  can  make  others 
apprehend  our  thoughts.  But  facts  and  processes  fitted 
to  furnish  such  representations  may  be  perceived  on  every 
side  of  us  in  the  objects  and  operations  of  what  we  term 
nature.  It  is  the  poet,  however,  who  is  most  conscious 
of  these  analogies,  for  he,  instead  of  accepting  those  noticed 
by  others  and  embodied  in  conventional  words,  is  con- 
stantly seeking  for  new  ones  and  using  these.  To  the  poet, 
and  the  reader  of  poetry,  therefore,  all  nature  appears  to  be, 
in  a  peculiar  sense,  a  representation,  a  repetition,  a 
projection  into  the  realm  of  matter,  of  the  immaterial 
processes  of  thought  within  the  mind. — Poetry  as  a  Repre- 
sentative Art,  XXVIII. 

x6 


242  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

POET,    INDEBTED    TO    BOTH    TEMPERAMENT   AND   CULTURE. 

By  temperament  many  are  constitutionally  unqualified 
to  give  any  utterance  to  instinctive  promptings,  to  throw 
themselves  with  abandon  into  anything;  but,  granted 
this  power,  it  is  often  the  accuracy,  breadth,  and  largeness 
of  the  cultivation  received  that  determine  the  truth,  com- 
prehensiveness, and  greatness  of  the  result.  A  wholly 
uncultivated  man  may  produce  a  perfect  stanza  or  sketch; 
but  usually  not  a  long  poem  or  a  painting. — The  Represen- 
tative Significance  of  Form,  xiii. 

POET,  THINKS  IN  IMAGES. 

The  poet  naturally  thinks  through  the  use  of  images.  He 
seems  to  see  outwardly  the  things  that  he  describes.  He 
seems  to  hear  outwardly  the  things  that  he  utters. — Essay 
on  Teaching  in  Drawing. 

POETIC  DESCRIPTION   {see  olso  PAINTING  VS.  POETRY). 

In  the  phase  of  consciousness  represented  in  poetry,  the 
man  thinks  of  certain  scenes  in  the  external  world  because 
they  are  suggested,  not  by  anything  that  he  is  actually,  at 
the  time,  perceiving  there,  but  by  his  own  recollections  of 
them  as  they  exist  in  thought.  To  one  likening  his  action 
in  a  battle  to  that  of  Wellington  at  Waterloo  and  of  Grant 
at  Vicksburg,  these  men  are  not  really  present,  only  ideally 
so.  As  objects  of  thought  they  are  not  outside  of  his  mind, 
they  are  in  it.  In  the  mood  represented  in  painting,  the 
man  thinks  of  external  scenes  because  they  are  actually 
before  him.  He  is  clearly  conscious  therefore  of  two  differ- 
ent sources  of  thought — one  within,  the  other  without.  The 
objective  world  is  really  present.  If  he  wish  to  represent 
this  fact,  therefore,  he  cannot  use  merely  words.  Words 
can  contain  only  what  is  in  the  mind,  or  ideally  present. 
In  order  to  represent  in  any  true  sense  what  is  really 
present  he  must  use  what  is  really  before  him,  i.  e.,  an 
indisputably  external  medium,  as  in  painting,  sculpture, 
and  architecture.  . .  .  Accordingtothedistinction  just  made, 
any  descriptive  details  are  out  of  place  in  poetry  other 
than  those  of  such  prominence  that  a  man  observing  them 
may  reasonably  be  supposed  to  be  able  to  retain  them  in 
memory; — other  than  those,  to  state  it  differently,  which 
are  illustrative  in  their  nature,  and  truly  representative, 
therefore,  of  ideas  within  the  mind  as  excited  to  conscious 
activity  by  influences  from  without.     There  is,  of  course,  a 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  243 

certain  interest,  though  sometimes  not  above  that  which  is 
merely  botanic  and  topographic,  awakened  by  verbal 
descriptions  of  flowers  and  fields  such  as  a  painter  on  the 
spot  would  be  able  to  give  while  scrutinizing  them  in  order 
to  depict  them.  But  this  interest  may  be  just  as  different 
from  that  which,  in  the  circumstances,  is  demanded,  as  it 
would  be  were  it  merely  didactic  or  dogmatic;  and  a  poet 
with  sensibilities  keen  enough  to  feel  the  differences  between 
essentially  different  motives  will  be  loath  to  yield  to  the 
promptings  of  that  which  is  essentially  not  poetic.  He  will 
refrain  from  indulging  in  the  kind  of  writing  just  indicated, 
not  because  it  is  too  difficult  for  him  to  master;  not  because 
though  living  at  the  present  time  he  is  unaware  that  the 
prevailing  taste  approves  of  it,  or  that,  if  he  fail  to  follow  its 
whims,  he  will  be  accused  of  having  too  little  love  of  nature 
or  sympathy  with  it ;  but  because  he  wishes  to  be  true  to  his 
art,  as  he  recognizes  that  all  the  greatest  masters  have  been; 
and  because  he  knows  that,  when  the  present  fashion  passes 
away,  as  it  surely  will,  only  that  poetry  will  live  which  is 
poetic  in  the  most  distinctive  sense. — Art  in  Theory,  xix. 

All  lengthy  descriptions  or  declamatory  passages  that 
have  nothing  to  do  directly  with  giving  definiteness,  char- 
acter, and  progress  to  the  plot,  detract  from  the  interest 
of  the  poem,  considered  as  a  whole.  The  effect  of  these 
things  upon  the  form  is  the  same  as  that  of  rubbish  thrown 
into  the  current  of  a  stream — it  impedes  the  movement, 
and  renders  the  water  less  transparent.  This  is  the  chief 
reason  why  the  works  of  the  dramatists  of  the  age  of  the 
history  of  our  literature  commonly  called  classical,  like 
Dryden,  Addison,  Rowe,  Home,  and  Brooke,  notwithstand- 
ing much  that  is  excellent  in  their  writings,  have  not  been 
able  to  maintain  their  popularity. — Poetry  as  a  Representa- 
tive Art,  XXII. 

POETIC  FORM,   ARTIFICIALITY  IN. 

Poetic  form,  for  instance,  as  used  by  Shakespeare,  Cole- 
ridge, Scott,  and  Burns,  was  characterized  by  apparent  ease 
and  facility.  Whatever  art  there  was  in  it,  if  not  wholly 
concealed,  at  least  called  attention,  not  to  itself,  but  to  the 
thought  and  feeling  for  the  expression  of  which  alone  it  is  of 
any  use.  It  is  true  that,  in  the  times  of  Queen  Anne,  form 
like  this  was  considered  insufficient  for  the  purpose.  It  is 
also  true,  though  the  fact  is  not  often  acknowledged,  that  in 


244  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

our  own  times  there  is  a  similar  opinion.  But  we  have 
learned  that  the  styles  of  Pope  and  Dry  den  were  artificial. 
What  will  our  successors  learn  about  our  styles  ?  Certainly, 
if  those  older  poets  cultivated  an  unnatural  rhythmic  swing, 
ours  are  cultivating  an  equally  unnatural  melodic  swag, 
the  straightforward  movement,  which  alone  is  logically 
appropriate  in  an  art,  the  medium  of  which  is  a  series  of 
effects  in  time,  having  given  place  to  a  succession  of  side- 
heaves,  occasioned  by  endeavors  to  lug  along  heavy  epithets. 
In  the  overloaded  form,  there  is  scarcely  more  drift,  which 
used  to  be  considered  essential  in  poetry,  than  in  a  fishing 
smack  with  every  line  on  board  trailing  in  the  water,  and 
every  hook  at  the  end  of  it  stuck  fast  in  seaweed.  From 
the  levy  made  upon  every  possibility  of  ornamentation 
within  reach,  one  would  suppose  that  the  contemporary 
muse  were  the  mistress  of  a  South  Sea  Islander,  who  never 
sees  beauty  where  there  is  no  paint. — Essay  on  The  Func- 
tion of  Technique. 

POETIC    FORM    ESSENTIAL    TO    POETIC    EFFECT    (see   olso 

technique). 
Poetry  is  more  than  thought;  it  is  more  even  than  a  strong 
and  metrical  expression  of  thought.  The  mere  fact  that  a 
girl  was  drowned  on  the  sands  of  Dee,  or  that  three  fisher- 
men were  lost  at  sea,  is  not  enough  to  account  for  the  interest 
that  we  take  in  Charles  Kingsley's  **  O  Mary,  Go  and  Call  the 
Cattle  Home, ' '  and  ' '  The  Fishermen. "  It  is  his  poetry  that 
interests  us ;  and  by  his  poetry  we  mean  the  representative 
way  in  which  he  has  told  these  tales.  .  .  .  The  important 
thing  that  needs  to  be  borne  in  mind  in  judging  of  poetry,  is 
that  it  is  an  art,  and  partakes  of  the  nature  of  the  fine  arts ; 
and  that,  as  such,  its  one  essential  is  a  representative  form 
appealing  to  a  man  through  that  which  causes  him  to  admire 
the  beautiful. — Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art,  xxvii. 

Not  all,  but  some  of  these  quotations  show  us  that  poetic 
effect  is  not  dependent  wholly  upon  the  presence  or  absence 
of  poetic  thought.  On  the  contrary,  that  which  in  verse 
charms  the  ear,  fixes  attention,  remains  in  memory,  and 
passes  into  a  precept  or  proverb,  is  sometimes  dependent  for 
its  popularity  almost  entirely  upon  consecutive  effects  of 
sound,  so  arranged  as  to  flow  into  one  another  and  together 
form  a  unity.  Certainly,  in  many  cases,  the  same  thought, 
expressed  in  sounds  less  satisfactorily  arranged,  would  not 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  245 

be  remembered  or  repeated. — Rhythm  and  Harmony  in 
Poetry  and  Music,  vii. 

POETIC  FORM,  EXCESSIVE  ATTENTION  TO. 

The  peculiarity  of  poetry  consists  in  the  fact  that  its 
medium  is  composed  of  words,  which  words,  in  turn,  are 
forms  of  thought.  If,  therefore,  attention  be  directed 
too  exclusively  to  the  form  as  form,  the  thoughts,  which 
alone  give  it  real  value,  will  not  produce  their  legitimate 
effects.  For  this  reason,  there  is  always  an  inartistic 
tendency  in  any  excessive  use  of  alliteration,  assonance, 
or  rhyme.  .  .  .  There  is  a  sense  in  which  all  art-products 
are  artistic  in  the  degree  in  which  they  are  natural.  They 
appear  most  natural,  of  course,  when  they  appear  most 
spontaneous.  But  too  great  attention  expended  upon  the 
mere  selection  of  letter-sounds  interferes  with  spontaneity 
of  effect.  Excessive  alliteration,  assonance,  and  rhyme 
suggest  calculation,  contrivance,  effort,  and  this  of  a  char- 
acter not  very  choice  in  quality.  They  are  all  in  themselves 
comparatively  easy  to  produce;  and,  unless  entering  into 
the  formation  of  a  word  exactly  fitted  to  convey  the  mean- 
ing that  is  intended,  they  suggest  an  unwarranted  sacrifice 
of  sense  to  the  mere  jingling  of  sounds,  and,  therefore,  a 
cheap  form  of  ornamentation. — Rhythm  and  Harmony  in 
Poetry  and  Music,  ix. 

POETIC  FORM    IN    POEMS  CONSIDERED  AS   WHOLES. 

A  poem  is  a  development  of  language,  and  language  is  a 
representation  of  thought,  and  thought  always  involves 
motion.  A  poem,  therefore,  is  a  representation  of  thought 
and  also  of  motion,  or,  rather,  of  thought  in  motion.  But 
more  than  this,  it  is  a  single  art-product;  therefore  it  must 
represent  a  single  thought  in  a  single  motion.  This  implies, 
first,  one  thought  to  which  all  the  other  thoughts  of  the 
work  must  be  related  by  way  of  complement,  or  subordi- 
nated by  way  of  principality;  and  second,  one  motion  of 
thought — i.  e.,  one  thought  moving  in  one  direction,  having 
one  beginning  from  which  all  the  movements  of  all  the 
related  and  subordinated  thoughts  of  the  entire  poem 
start;  a  middle  through  which  they  all  flow;  and  an  end 
toward  which  they  all  tend, — The  Genesis  of  Art  Form,  vi. 

In  speaking  of  the  plan  of  his  "Excursion, "  Wordsworth, 
in  several  places,  tells  us  that  his  conception  of  it  was  that  of 
a  cathedral  to  which  his  minor  poems  should  stand  related 


246  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

like  chapels  opening  from  the  aisles.  In  other  words,  he 
acknowledges  that  a  method  of  thought  or  expression  not 
natural  to  poetry,  but  to  another  art,  an  art,  too,  necessi- 
tating a  body  filling  space,  was  present  to  his  mind  when 
considering  the  general  form  of  his  poem.  So  far  as  this 
method  had  influence,  his  motive,  therefore,  was  that  not 
of  the  poet  but  of  the  architect.  A  poem  m.odelled  after 
a  cathedral !  One  might  as  well  talk  of  a  picture  modelled 
after  a  symphony,  or  a  statue  after  a  running  stream.  To 
be  sure,  if  the  stream  were  frozen  stiff,  and  so  far  lifeless, 
the  statue  might  image  it.  Only  so  far  as  thought  were 
in  a  similar  condition  could  a  poem  that  was  really  like  a 
cathedral,  embody  it. — Representative  Significance  of  Form, 

XXV. 

This  requirement  of  organic  form,  as  manifested  by  the 
arrangement  of  the  chief  features  of  an  artistic  product, 
differs  not  whether  a  poem  be  short  or  long.  The  degree 
of  excellence  in  its  conception  is  measured  by  the  degree  in 
which  it  presents  an  image  of  the  phase  of  life  with  which  it 
deals  in  a  distinct  form,  by  which  is  meant  a  form  in  which 
are  preserved  the  organic  relationships  of  all  the  parts  to 
one  another  and  to  the  whole.  When,  in  speaking  of  a 
long  poem,  such  as  the  **  Iliad"  or  ** Paradise  Lost, "  '*  Ham- 
let, "or  "Faust,"  we  commend  its  unity  and  progress,  or 
the  consistency,  continuity,  and  completeness  with  which 
certain  ideas  of  which  it  treats  are  developed,  we  mean 
merely  that  the  poem  as  a  whole  presents  in  distinct  organic 
form  a  whole  image  of  that  which  it  is  designed  to  present. 
The  difference,  therefore,  between  the  ability  to  produce 
a  long  poem  and  a  short  one,  or  what  is  sometimes  the  same 
thing,  a  great  poem  and  a  small  one,  is  simply  of  the  same 
nature  as  that  which  exists  between  a  high  and  a  small 
order  of  intellect  in  other  departments, — a  difference  in  the 
ability  to  hold  the  thoughts  persistently  to  a  single  subject 
until  all  its  parts  have  been  marshalled  into  order. — The 
Genesis  of  Art-Form,  vi. 

None  of  these  poems  deserve  to  be  placed  in  the  highest 
rank,  because  they  lack  the  qualities  which,  as  we  have 
found,  must  characterize  the  products  of  an  art,  whose 
form  is  apprehensible  in  time.  They  lack  the  qualities 
because  they  lack  the  form  that  necessarily  would  show 
these;  and  they  lack  the  form — i.  e.,  the  representative  form. 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  247 

•^because  their  authors  did  not  start  to  compose  them  with 
representative  conceptions.  When  Dante,  Shakespeare,  and 
Milton  first  conceived  their  greatest  works,  it  must  have 
been  a  picture  that  appeared  to  loom  before  their  imagina- 
tions. It  is  doubtful  whether  Wordsworth,  Cowper,  and 
Campbell  thought  of  anything  except  an  argument. — Poetry 
as  a  Representative  Art,  xxvii. 

POETIC  FORM,  ITS  INFLUENCE  UPON  THOUGHT. 

When  a  man  polishes  a  diamond  its  beauty  is  due,  in  a 
sense,  to  its  appearance,  and  to  what  his  polishing  has  added 
to  its  appearance;  but,  in  another  sense,  the  beauty  is  due 
still  more  to  the  surrounding  light  which  his  polishing  has 
enabled  the  diamond  to  reflect.  The  poet  who  never 
allows  himself  to  use  an  imperfect  rhyme,  or,  except  for 
reasons  in  the  sense,  to  use  words  containing  consecutive 
letter-sounds  that  do  not  harmonize,  is  likely,  on  account 
of  the  very  attention  that  he  pays  to  the  expression,  to 
make  the  expression  seem  worthy  of  attention;  and,  not 
only  so,  but  to  make  that  which  is  expressed  seem  worthy  of 
attention.  We  wonder,  at  times,  why  certain  modern  poets 
prefer  to  write  plays  in  blank  verse.  Most  of  us  ascribe  the 
reason  to  the  influence  of  tradition.  But  there  is  a  better 
reason  than  this.  Foot  and  line  impose  limits  upon  expres- 
sional  form.  The  necessity  for  conciseness  in  the  language 
impels  to  conciseness  in  the  thought.  Thought  like  light 
never  becomes  really  brilliant,  never  flashes,  except  from  a 
form  in  which  its  rays  are  concentrated.  The  sun's  influ- 
ence on  a  bright  day  is  pervasive;  it  is  everywhere;  but  its 
beams  never  sparkle  from  the  whole  surface  of  a  pool  or 
lake, — only  from  places  where  in  this  they  touch  some  single 
small  drop,  or  collection  of  small  drops. — Essay  on  Music 
as  Related  to  Other  Arts. 

POETIC   FORM,    ITS    RICHNESS   COMPENSATING   FOR   POVERTY 

IN  IDEAS. 

As  this  poetry  lies  concealed  in  ordinary  life,  the  poet 
is  compelled  to  do  more  than  simply  to  represent  ordinary 
life.  He  must  make  this  appear  to  be  more  than  it  seems 
to  be;  and  he  must  do  so  by  making  more  of  his  poetic  form 
than  can  be  done  in  direct  representation.  We  all  know 
how  ladies  taking  up  a  temporary  residence  for  the  summer 
in  small  seaside  cottages,  erected  without  paint  or  plaster, 
make  up  for  the  lack  of  other  beautifying  elements,  by 


248  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

tacking  all  over  the  walls  Japanese  fans  and  scarfs  of 
innumerable  hues,  intermingled  with  wreaths  of  evergreen 
and  myrtle;  or  how,  when  they  rent  furnished  houses  in 
which  the  colors  of  the  carpets,  chairs,  and  wall  papers  do 
not  harmonize,  they  spread  tidies,  afghans,  and  ornaments 
of  all  possible  shades  over  sofas  and  mantles,  so  as  to  pro- 
duce effects  pleasing  by  way  of  combination  and  variety, 
where  it  is  impossible  to  have  simplicity  and  unity.  All  this 
is  an  illustration  of  cheap  ornamentation.  Yet  it  is  justi- 
fiable in  such  circumstances.  The  tendency  producing  it  is 
exercised  unjustifiably  only  when  an  architect  or  uphol- 
sterer, with  an  opportunity  to  rely  upon  more  worthy 
methods,  tries  to  produce  similar  results  not  as  means  but 
as  ends.  Illustrative  representation  in  poetry  is  often  pro- 
duced by  bringing  together  all  sorts  of  elements,  very 
much  as  the  Japanese  fans  are  brought  together  in  sea- 
side cottages;  and  it  is  justifiable  when  it  is  necessary  to 
make  thought  attractive  which  otherwise  would  not  be  so. 
To  illustrate  how  poetry  can  make  this  sort  of  thought 
attractive,  take  this  description  of  a  luncheon  in  Tenny- 
son's "Audley  Court."  In  most  of  the  passage  we  have 
direct  representation;  but  all  the  better  for  this  reason,  it 
serves  to  illustrate  what  I  mean  by  saying  that  form  can 
make  the  unpoetic  seem  poetic.  What  could  be  more 
unpoetic  or  commonplace  than  a  meal?  Yet  notice  how 
by  the  introduction  of  picturesque  elements  like  "wrought 
with  horse  and  hound,"  "dusky,"  "costly  made,"  "Like 
fossils  of  the  rock,"  "golden"^  "Imbedded,"  and  the 
graphic  account  of  the  conversation, — all  such  as  could  be 
observed  by  one  looking  on,  the  poet  has  rendered  the 
whole  poetic.  It  is  an  admirable  illustration  of  a  legiti- 
mate way  in  which  by  richness  of  form  a  poet  can  make 
up  for  poverty  of  ideas. — Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art, 

XXIII. 

POETRY  AS  AN  ART   (see  also   REPRESENTATION,   A 
CHARACTERISTIC   OF  ^.STHETIC  ART). 

Poetry  is  acknowledged  to  be  an  art,  ranking,  like  music, 
with  the  fine  arts, — painting,  sculpture,  and  architecture. 
It  is  acknowledged,  also,  that  the  peculiar  characteristic  of 
all  these  arts  is  that  they  have  what  is  termed  form  (from 
the  Lsitin forma,  an  external  appearance) .  This  form,  more- 
over, is  aesthetic   (from  the  Greek  ataOrji^q,  perceived  by 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  249 

the  senses) ;  and  it  is  presented  in  such  a  way  as  to  address 
the  senses  through  the  agency  of  an  artist,  who,  in  order 
to  attain  his  end,  represents  the  sounds  or  sights  of  nature. 
All  these  arts,  therefore,  in  a  broad  sense  of  the  term,  are 
representative.  What  they  represent  is  partly  the  pheno- 
mena of  nature  and  partly  the  thoughts  of  man;  partly  that 
which  is  imitated  from  things  perceived  in  the  world  with- 
out, and  partly  that  which  is  conceived  in  the  mind  of  him 
who,  in  order  to  express  his  conception,  produces  the  imi- 
tation. Both  of  these  factors  are  present  in  all  artistic 
forms,  and  cause  them  to  be  what  they  are.  That  painting 
and  sculpture  represent,  is  recognized  by  all;  that  music 
and  architecture  do  the  same,  needs  to  be  proved  to  most 
men.  As  for  poetry,  with  which  we  are  now  to  deal,  all 
perceive  that  it  contains  certain  representative  elements; 
but  few  are  aware  to  what  an  extent  these  determine 
everything  in  it  that  is  distinctive  and  excellent. — Idemy  i. 

"poetry  as  a  representative  art,  analysis  of  the 

BOOK. " 

{Recapitulation:)  In  the  volume  entitled  "Poetry  as  a 
Representative  Art,"  as  well  as  in  the  essay  on  "Music 
as  a  Representative  Art,"  it  is  shown,  for  instance, — to 
mention  only  a  few  particulars  as  illustrative  of  many 
more, — that,  both  by  way  of  suggestion  and  of  imitation, 
solemnity,  gravity,  and  dignity  are  represented  by  long 
syllables  and  notes  causing  slowness  of  movement  as  con- 
trasted with  the  opposite ;  that  self-assertion  and  vehemence 
are  represented  by  distinctness  of  accent  and  loudness 
of  tone  as  contrasted  with  indistinctness  and  softness ;  that 
conclusiveness,  decision,  affirmation,  and  satisfaction  are 
represented  by  downward  as  contrasted  with  upward 
movements  either  in  the  tunes  of  verse  or  of  song;  and  also 
that  feelings  like  fright,  amazement,  indignation,  contempt, 
horror,  awe,  surprise,  solicitude,  delight,  admiration,  and 
determination  are  each  represented  by  different  qualities 
of  tone,  whether  indicated  in  vowels  and  consonants  or 
in  musical  instruments. 

In  the  last  halves  of  the  essays,  both  on  poetry  and  on 
music,  the  elements  which  are  considered  separately  in 
the  first  halves  are  examined  as  representing  mental  con- 
ceptions or  material  surroundings  when  combined  in  com- 
pleted art-products,  the  purpose  being  to  bring  out  clearly, 


250  AN  ART^PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

if  possible,  as  applied  to  both  theme  and  treatment,  whether 
plain  or  figurative,  the  distinctions  between  the  poetic  and 
the  prosaic,  the  musical  and  the  merely  sonorous. — Pro- 
portion and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color y  xxvi. 

The  theory  underlying  all  that  has  been  said  thus  far 
is,  that  poetry  is  an  artistic  development  of  language;  its 
versification,  of  the  pauses  of  natural  breathing;  its  rhythm 
and  tune,  of  the  accents  and  inflections  of  ordinary  conver- 
sation; and  the  significance  in  its  sounds,  of  ejaculatory  and 
imitative  methods  actuating  the  very  earliest  efforts  of  our 
race  at  verbal  expression.  The  inference  suggested  has 
been  that  these  effects  produced  by  sound  are  legitimate  in 
poetry,  because,  like  language,  and  as  a  part  of  it,  and  far 
more  significantly  than  some  forms  of  it,  they  represent 
thought.  This  inference  necessarily  carries  with  it  another, 
which  it  seems  important  to  emphasize  before  we  leave  this 
part  of  our  subject.  It  is  this, — that  no  effects  produced  by 
sound  are  legitimate  in  poetry,  which  fail  in  any  degree  to 
represent  thought.  If  a  man's  first  impression  on  entering 
a  picture-gallery  come  from  a  suggestion  of  paint,  he  may 
know  that  he  is  not  in  the  presence  of  the  masters.  So  if  his 
first  impression  on  beginning  to  read  verse  come  from  a 
suggestion  of  jingle,  of  sound,  or  of  form  of  any  kind  not  con- 
nected in  some  most  intimate  way  with  an  appeal  to  his 
thinking  faculties,  he  may  be  well-nigh  sure  that  the  lines 
before  him  do  not  entitle  their  author  to  a  high  poetic 
rank.  As  I  intend  to  show  further  on,  all  artistic  poetry 
must  produce  the  effects  of  form,  but  these  include  impres- 
sions recognized  not  only  by  the  outer  ear,  but  also  by 
the  inner  mind.  It  is  because  of  the  exceeding  diffi- 
culty of  perfectly  adjusting  sound  to  thought  and  thought 
to  sound,  till,  like  perfectly  attuned  strings  of  a  perfect 
instrument,  both  strike  together  in  all  cases  so  as  to  form  a 
single  chord  of  a  perfect  harmony,  that  there  are  so  few 
great  poets. — Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art,  xiii. 

POETRY  AS  PICTORIAL  ?;5.  MUSICAL  {seealsOVOKI'RY  VS.  MUSIC, 
GENESIS   OF   each). 

In  primitive  times,  the  poetry  of  a  word  or  phrase  was 
determined  by  its  appeal  less  to  what  we  may  term  the 
ear  of  the  mind  than  to  its  eye.  By  words  appealing  to 
the  ear,  I  mean  those  like  hiss,  rush,  roar,  rattle,  evidently 
originated   by   the  recognition   of  resemblances   between 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  251 

meaning  and  sound.  By  words  appealing  to  the  eye,  I 
mean  those  like  upright,  shady,  forerunner,  turnover,  used 
in  what  is  termed  a  metaphorical  sense,  and  evidently  origi- 
nated in  a  desire  to  represent  or  picture  certain  conditions 
or  relationships  of  thought  that  are  not  visible,  being  in- 
side the  mind,  through  references  to  conditions  or  relation- 
ships that  are  visible,  because  in  the  external  world.  It  is 
words  of  this  latter  kind  upon  which  the  earliest  poets  seem 
to  have  depended  mainly  for  their  effects.  .  .  .  Attempts 
to  cause  poetry  to  represent  its  meaning  through  the  use  of 
mere  sounds  were  very  limited  until  long  after  the  period 
of  the  most  ancient  poetry.  Rhythm,  assonance,  allitera- 
tion, rhyme,  and  particularly  what  are  termed  the  tunes  of 
verse,  and  the  selection  of  different  metres  for  the  presen- 
tation of  different  sentiments  and  subjects,  were  all  of  them 
more  or  less  late  developments  in  the  history  of  the  art. — 
Essay  on  Music  as  Related  to  the  Other  Arts. 

The  general  result  is  represented  in  poetry  through 
the  use  of  articulated  words,  and  in  music  through  the  use 
of  inarticulated  tones.  Words  represent  conceptions  which 
are  sufficiently  intelligible  to  be  clearly  defined.  Tones 
represent  conceptional  tendencies,  which  are  not  always 
sufficiently  intelligible  to  be  clearly  defined.  The  conse- 
quent difference  between  the  effects  of  the  two  arts  is  this : 
Both  influence  the  imagination,  and,  while  doing  so,  conjure 
pictures  which  pass  in  review  before  it;  but  while  poetry 
indicates  definitely  what  these  pictures  shall  be,  music  leaves 
the  mind  of  the  listener  free  to  determine  this,  the  same 
chords  inclining  one  man,  perhaps,  to  think  of  his  business, 
and  another  of  his  recreation;  one  of  a  storm  at  sea,  and 
another  of  a  battle-field.  Now  notice  a  further  fact, — that 
words  make  thought  definite  because  they  appeal  to  the 
imagination  as  is  done  through  the  sense  not  only  of  hearing 
but  also  of  sight;  and  this,  not  only  because  they  can  be 
printed  as  well  as  spoken,  but  because,  as  a  rule,  they  refer 
to  objects,  as  in  the  cases  of  hut,  farm,  road,  and  horse;  or  to 
actions,  as  in  the  cases  of  come,  go,  stop,  and  hurry;  or  to 
other  conditions,  as  in  the  cases  of  near,  far,  with,  and  6y, 
that  can  be  seen,  and  that  are  seen  by  imagination  when- 
ever the  words  are  used.  Musical  tones,  on  the  contrary, 
appeal  to  imagination  almost  exclusively  as  is  done  through 
the  sense  of  hearing  irrespective  of  sight.  This  is  a  difference 


252  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

which  is  radical,  and  extremely  important.  Poetry  of  the 
highest  order,  as  we  read  it,  calls  attention  to  visible  objects. 
Through  doing  so  the  lines  transport  us  into  a  realm  of 
imagination,  and  this  not  of  our  own  making,  as  in  music, 
but  of  the  poet's  making.  So  far  as  he  fails  to  lift  us  into 
this  realm,  and  to  keep  us  in  it,  his  poetry  fails  of  one  of  its 
most  important  possibilities.  Notice  in  the  following 
how  clean-cut  and  concrete  every  figure  is,  how  it  stands 
out  in  relief,  rising  visually  before  the  mind,  the  moment 
that  the  words  are  heard.  ...  In  much  modern  poetry,  musi- 
cal effects  are  either  entirely  substituted  for  visual  effects, 
or  are  allowed  to  overbalance  the  visual  to  such  an  extent 
as  to  obscure  them.  This  is  one  reason  why  poetry  is  so 
little  read,  and  has  so  little  influence,  in  our  own  times. — 
Essentials  of  ^Esthetics,  ix. 

One  takes  up  a  magazine  or  a  book  of  the  day,  and  sees 
type  arranged  in  the  form  of  verse.  He  notices  in  the 
successions  of  syllables  an  abundance  of  music,  perhaps. 
But  the  writers  have  evidently  forgotten — not  wholly  but 
largely — that  which,  when  poetry  began,  gave  it  its  nature 
and  value.  In  what  he  reads,  he  finds  little  visualizing 
of  invisible  thought,  little  formulation  of  unformed  sug- 
gestions, little  projection  of  definite  ideas  from  regions  of  in- 
definiteness,  little  illuminating  truth  shining  out  brilliant  as 
a  star  from  vague  depths  of  apparently  unfathomable  signi- 
ficance. He  can  read  page  after  page  of  this  modern  so- 
called  poetry  from  which  it  is  hardly  possible  to  obtain  by 
mining  a  single  word  or  phrase  such  as  is  everywhere  on 
the  surface,  and  which  the  most  casual  glance  reveals  spark- 
ling like  a  gem,  not  only  in  the  products  of  the  ancient  classic 
poets,  but  of  all  the  great  modern  poets  like  Dante,  Shake- 
speare, and  Goethe. — Essay  on  Music  as  Related  to  Other 
Arts. 

I  used  to  wonder  why  it  was  that  foreign  critics — French 
and  German — almost  universally  fail  to  assign  very  high 
rank  to  the  poetry  of  Tennyson,  while  they  do  assign  it  to 
that  of  Byron.  I  am  quite  sure  now  that  the  line  of  thought 
just  suggested,  explains,  in  part  at  least,  both  facts.  The 
depreciation  of  Tennyson  seems  to  be  owing  to  his  over- 
balancing appeal  to  the  imagination  through  the  methods 
of  sound.  Those  not  familiar  with  the  sounds  of  English 
words  and  the  more  subtly  associated  suggestions  of  these 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  253 

sounds  often  fail  to  recognize  his  artistic  qualities.  Tenny- 
son, however,  was  a  great  poet.  His  work  very  frequently 
appeals  to  the  imagination  through  the  methods  of  sight. — 
Essay  on  The  Literary  Artist  and  Elocution. 

In  the  following,  for  instance,  all  of  us  will  be  conscious 
of  a  musical  flow  of  syllables,  but  most  of  us  will  not  be 
conscious  of  seeing  images  rise  in  succession  before  the 
imagination;  we  shall  not  be  lifted  into  that  realm  of  visual 
surroundings  to  which  it  is  the  peculiar  province  of  poetry 
to  transport  one.  On  thinking  it  over,  too,  we  shall  prob- 
ably recognize  that  the  same  could  be  said  of  much  of  the 
ordinary — the  very  ordinary — poetry  of  the  present,  though 
it,  too,  is  often  extremely  musical. — Idem. 

In  poetry,  the  sounds  of  the  words  have  little  to  do  with 
poetic  achievement  except  so  far  as  by  being  picturesque — 
individually  and  collectively — they  represent  the  forms — 
some  of  them  audible  it  is  true,  but  most  of  them  merely 
visible — that  are  moving  forward  and  carrying  to  success- 
ful development  that  which  is  in  the  poet's  imagination. 
I  once  heard  a  remark  attributed  to  the  French  dramatist, 
Scribe,  to  the  effect  that  when  he  was  composing  he  always 
seemed  to  be  looking  at  his  characters  moving  before  him 
on  the  stage.  This  tendency  to  think  by  describing  what 
appears  to  be  seen,  is  common,  in  fact,  probably  necessary, 
to  all  those  who  produce  works  of  the  imagination.  It  is 
because  of  the  ability  to  perceive  inward  experiences  as  if 
they  were  outwardly  present,  that  many  great  poets — and 
some  of  the  very  greatest — poets  like  Dante  and  Milton, 
have  been  what  we  may  term  natural,  if  not  proficient, 
mathematicians,  or,  at  least,  geometricians.  In  speaking  of 
University  experiences  at  Cambridge,  you  may  recall  what 
Wordsworth  says  of 

The  pleasures  gathered  from  the  rudiments 
Of  geometric  science.  ... 

— Essay  on  Teaching  in  Drawing. 

POETRY  AS  PRODUCING  MUSIC. 

There  is  no  doubt,  too,  that  this  influence  of  music  upon 
poetry  has,  to  an  extent,  been  beneficial.  At  the  same  time 
nothing  human,  whether  we  apply  the  term  to  character 
or  to  characteristics,  is  ever  wholly  benefited  in  case  external 
agencies  be  allowed  to  master  traits  peculiar  to  its  own 
individuality.     Poetry  whose  distinctive  features  are  sub- 


254  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

ordinated  to  those  of  music  or  of  any  other  art,  may  become 
unpoetic;  and  if  they  be  only  partly  subordinated,  it  may 
become  partly  unpoetic.  No  form  of  influence  that  a 
man  can  exert  in  this  world  is  so  certain  to  prove  successful 
that,  in  his  efforts  to  produce  it,  he  can  afford  to  ignore 
the  importance  of  concentration. — Essay  on  Music  as 
Related  to  Other  Arts. 

How  can  one  be  expected  to  appreciate  that  which  has 
caused  poets  like  Shakespeare,  Milton,  or  Tennyson  to  put 
their  thoughts  into  verse,  if  his  ear  have  never  been  made 
acquainted  by  nature  or  by  training  with  the  relations  and 
the  meanings  of  sounds?  Upon  such  a  man,  all  the  time 
and  the  care  that  these  poets  have  expended  in  arranging 
their  words  in  another  form  than  prose  have  been  wasted. — 
Essay  on  The  Literary  Artist  and  Elocution. 

With  all  this  preponderating  devotion  to  the  supposed 
requirements  of  form,  there  appears  to  be,  both  in  Pope 
and  Dry  den,  a  marked  absence  of  any  desire  to  produce  the 
finer  qualities  of  sound,  like  those  of  assonance,  phonetic 
syzygy,  and  gradation,  which  make  poetry  really  musical. 
With  all  their  transpositions,  they  never  succeeded  in  pro- 
ducing the  purely  melodious  effects  of  Tennyson  and 
Longfellow. — Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art,  xiii. 

POETRY,   BASED  ON  COMPARISON. 

Poetry  results,  .  .  .  when  the  motive  which  previously  has 
influenced  the  thought  indefinitely,  and  which  therefore 
could  be  represented  appropriately  in  only  indefinite  or 
inarticulate  sounds,  reaches  the  region  of  definite  thought. 
...  It  seems  to  be  a  necessary  condition  of  definite  thought, 
that  there  should  be,  in  the  first  place,  conceptions  already 
in  the  mind,  and,  in  the  second  place,  a  motive  owing  to 
the  influence  of  which  they  are  revealed  to  consciousness. 
Ordinarily  a  man  conceives  of  both  the  conceptions  and  the 
motive  as  one.  He  does  so,  however,  according  to  the  same 
principle  that  leads  him,  when  he  sees  ice  moving  in  the  river, 
to  say  that  the  water  is  moving.  The  two  things,  ice  and 
water,  are  different.  It  is  the  mind  that  unites  them.  At 
the  same  time,  thought  is  conscious,  all  the  while,  that  they 
are  two  things,  and  not  one.  The  motive  in  poetry,  as  in 
music,  sweeps  the  emotions  onward  to  instinctive  action. 
But  in  poetry,  the  ideas,  caught  up  in  the  tide,  clearly  repeat, 
or,  as  we  may  say,  reinforce  the  motive;  and  that  which 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  .  255 

causes  the  mind  to  consider  both  motive  and  idea  as  one 
thing  and  not  two  is  the  fact  that,  with,  of  course,  some 
contrasts,  they  compare  together,  and  also  the  fact  that 
the  mind  is  conscious  that  they  do  this.  Conscious  com- 
parison, therefore,  rather  than  the  unconscious  phases 
of  it  and  of  association  that  lead  to  the  developments  of 
music,  lies  at  the  basis  of  poetry. — Art  in  Theory,  xviii. 

POETRY,  HOW  DEVELOPED. 

Similar  facts  are  true  of  poetry.  A  man  like  an  animal 
could  express  his  actual  wants  in  a  few  different  sighs, 
cries,  grunts,  and  hisses.  But  from  these  he  develops,  in 
their  various  forms,  the  innumerable  words  and  phrases 
that  render  possible  the  nice  distinctions  of  language. 
These  words  and  phrases  are  often  freshly  invented  by 
the  poets,  and  they  are  almost  always  invented  as  a  result 
of  what  is  recognized  to  be  the  poetic  tendency  latent  in 
all  men.  As  for  poems  considered  as  wholes,  their  metres  or 
rhymes  are  never  produced  as  immediate  subjective  utter- 
ances, such  as  we  hear  in  ordinary  speech.  They  are  always 
the  work  of  the  imagination,  bringing  together  the  results 
of  experience  and  experiment,  according  to  the  method 
termed  composition.  In  other  words,  even  aside  from  the 
fact  that  they  are  usually  written  or  printed,  but  neces- 
sarily when  considered  in  connection  with  this,  they  evi- 
dently involve  the  construction  of  an  external  product. 
Nor  can  we  explain  their  existence  at  all,  except  by  attribut- 
ing them  to  the  intense  and  unadulterated  satisfaction  which 
the  poet  derives  from  elaborating  them,  not  for  ends  of 
material  utility,  but  for  effects  of  beauty  that  pertain  only  to 
themselves. — Idem,  viii. 

POETRY,  HOW  ITS  REPRESENTATION  INFLUENCES  THOUGHT. 

Poetry,  as  we  have  found,  is  an  art;  and  art  does  not 
consist  of  thoughts,  explanations,  or  arguments  concerning 
things,  but  of  substituted  realities  representing  them;  and 
there  can  be  no  legitimate  re-presentation,  except  of  what 
may  be  supposed  to  be  perceived.  If,  for  instance,  certain 
persons  are  doing  certain  things,  one  will  probably  draw 
some  inferences  from  their  actions  with  reference  to  their 
motives,  and  he  will  have  a  right  to  tell  his  inferences — in 
prose ;  but  not,  as  a  rule,  in  poetry.  In  this,  he  must  picture 
what  he  has  observed,  and  leave  others,  as  free  as  he  himself 
has  been,  to  infer  what  they  choose.     At  the  same  time. 


356  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

in  the  degree  in  which  he  is  an  artist,  his  picture  will  be 
of  such  a  character  as  to  impel  others  to  draw  from  it  the 
same  inference  that  he  himself  has  drawn. — Poetry  as  a 
Representative  Art,  xx. 

POETRY,  ITS  LANGUAGE  IN  A  SCIENTIFIC  AGE. 

As  a  language  grows  conventional  and  scientific,  it  loses 
much  of  its  imaginative  and  poetic  force.  When  men  have 
arbitrary  symbols  to  express  precisely  what  they  wish  to  say, 
their  fancies  do  not  search  for  others  to  suggest  what,  at  best 
can  but  vaguely  picture  it.  We  hear  them  speak  of  engines 
and  of  locomotives,  not  of  ''horses  breathing  fire."  .  . .  Amid 
circumstances  like  these  must  poetry  succumb?  If  not,  in 
what  way  can  the  poet  overcome  them?  Certainly  in  one 
way  only — by  recognizing  his  conditions,  and  making 
the  most  of  the  material  at  his  disposal.  He  must  use  a 
special  poetic  diction.  In  doing  this  two  things  are 
incumbent  on  him.  The  first  is  to  choose  from  the  mass 
of  language  words  that  have  poetic  associations.  All  our 
words  convey  definite  meanings  not  only,  but  accompany- 
ing suggestions ;  and  some  of  these  are  very  unpoetic.  .  .  . 
But  there  is  a  second  thing  incumbent  on  the  poet.  .  .  .  He 
must  choose  from  the  mass  of  language  words  that  embody 
poetic  comparisons, — choose  them  not  only  negatively,  by 
excluding  terms  too  scientific  or  colloquial,  which,  with 
material  and  mean  associations,  break  the  spell  of  the 
ideal  and  spiritual;  but  positively,  by  going  back  in  imagi- 
nation to  the  view-point  of  the  child,  and  (either  because 
arranging  old  words  so  as  to  reveal  the  pictures  in  them, 
or  because  originating  new  expressions  of  his  own)  by  sub- 
stituting for  the  commonplace  that  which  is  worthy  of  an 
art  which  should  be  aesthetic. — Idem,  xvii. 

POETRY,     ITS     LANGUAGE     NOT     NECESSARILY     FIGURATIVE. 

Direct  pure  representative  poetry,  as  has  been  intimated, 
pictures  to  the  mind,  without  the  use  of  figurative  lan- 
guage, a  single  transaction  or  series  of  transactions  in  such 
a  way  as  to  influence  the  thoughts  of  him  who  hears  the 
poetry,  precisely  as  they  would  have  been  influenced  had  he 
himself  perceived  the  transaction  or  series  of  transactions 
of  which  the  poetry  treats.  The  works  of  Homer,  as  in 
fact  of  all  the  classic  writers,  are  filled  with  examples  of  this 
kind  of  representation. — Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art, 
XX. 


St.  Isaac's,  Petrograd 

See  pages  4,  9,  10,  12,  73,  81-85,  89,  91,  162,  223-225,  301,  316, 
323-327,  385 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  257 

POETRY,   ITS  LANGUAGE  VS.   PROSE. 

Poetic  form  necessitates  a  peculiar  selection  and  arrange- 
ment of  words  and  phrases.  But  if  these  violate  the  laws 
of  natural  expression  or  of  grammatical  construction,  as 
exemplified  in  the  language  of  prose,  their  meanings  may 
be  obscured  entirely,  or,  if  not  so,  will,  at  least,  be  con- 
veyed through  forms  that  seem  artificial.  It  was  for 
these  reasons  that  Wordsworth  argued  that  there  should 
be  no  difference  between  the  language  of  poetry  and  of 
prose.  In  his  own  practice  he  sometimes  carried  out  his 
theory  only  too  faithfully;  but  a  truth  underlay  it,  which 
always  needs  to  be  borne  in  mind.  The  problem  in  con- 
nection with  all  versification  is,  how  to  arrange  words.  .  .  . 
so  as  to  produce.  .  .  .  rhythmical  and  musical  effects,  with- 
out impairing,  somewhat,  the  naturalness  of  the  phrase- 
ology. The  departures  from  naturalness,  in  order  to  satisfy 
the  demands  of  sound,  usually  manifest  themselves  in 
one  of  five  different  ways,  viz:  in  the  insertion,  the  trans- 
position, the  alteration,  the  omission,  or  the  misuse  of  words. 
— Idem,  XIII. 

When  we  get  to  the  bottom  of  the  subject,  that  which 
distinguishes  prose  from  poetry  is  that  the  latter  influences 
us  through  the  use  of  imitation  or  through  imaging.  As 
shown  on  pages  208  to  212  of  "Poetrj^  as  a  Representative 
Art,"  we  can  present  the  thoughts  and  feelings  which  an 
appearance  of  nature  suggests,  in  ordinary  language,  i.  e.,  in 
prose,  if  we  choose.  But  if  so,  we  seldom  present  them 
artistically,  or  poetically.  We  do  the  latter  only  when  we 
repeat  the  methods  of  nature,  and  re-present  that  which  na- 
ture presents.  Just  as  we  re-present  the  natural  inflections 
of  the  voice  in  musical  melody,  the  figures  and  scenes  of 
nature  in  painting  and  sculpture,  so  in  poetry,  we  re-present 
through  descriptive  or  figurative  language.  In  one  sense  it 
is  true,  as  the  modern  so-called  Aristotelians  tell  us,  that 
the  effects  of  art,  even  in  poetry,  do  not  depend  upon  the 
subject.  They  depend  upon  the  appeal  which  the  subject 
makes  to  the  imagination,  and  this  depends  upon  the  ima- 
ging, or  upon  what  Aristotle  terms  the  imitation.  At  times, 
but  only  at  times,  the  subject  itself  is  such  that  necessarily, 
the  moment  it  is  presented,  the  imagination  thinks  of  a 
picture.  At  other  times  this  is  not  the  case.  When  it  is  not, 
the  poet,  through  the  use  of  imitative  or  imaging  language. 


258  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER 'S  CABINET 

or,  as  we  say,  of  figurative  language,  must  make  the  different 
parts  of  the  subject  seem  picturesque. — Art  in  Theory, 
Appendix  iii. 

POETRY,    ITS    PRACTICAL    UTILITY. 

This  interpretation  of  the  meaning  of  nature,  natural 
and  human,  by  those  who  have  learned  to  interpret  it, 
while  striving  to  have  it  convey  their  own  meanings,  lies 
at  the  basis  of  all  the  practical  uses  of  poetry.  Therefore 
it  is  that  its  products  bring  with  them  an  atmosphere 
consoling  and  inspiring,  both  enlightening  and  expanding 
the  conceptions  and  experiences  of  the  reader.  Just  as 
each  specific  application  of  Christianity, — all  its  warnings, 
consolations,  and  encouragements,  which  develop  purity 
within  and  righteousness  without,  in  the  individual,  in 
society,  or  in  the  state,  spring  from  the  one  general  concep- 
tion of  universal  and  divine  love  manifested  in  the 
form  of  the  Christ,  so  do  all  the  specific  applications  of 
poetry  spring  from  the  one  general  conception  of  universal 
and  divine  truth  manifested  through  the  forms  of  material 
and  human  nature. — Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art,  xxviii. 

POETRY  vs.  ELOCUTION. 

Viewed  in  itself,  poetry  is  an  end, — a  series  of  words 
representing  the  comparative  processes  of  imagination. 
Viewed  in  connection  with  elocution,  poetry  is  a  means.  If 
a  written  product  happen  to  suggest  acting,  this  fact  alone, 
irrespective  of  its  merit  as  poetry,  may  commend  it  to  the 
elocutionist.  It  follows  therefore  that  the  subject-matter  of 
each  of  the  two  arts  must  be  judged  by  a  different  stand- 
ard,— a  fact  which,  if  regarded,  would  save  our  critics  of 
poetry  many  a  slip,  and  our  orators  many  an  hour  use- 
lessly employed  in  the  vain  attempt  to  produce  an  oratori- 
cal effect  through  the  medium  of  that  which  is  distinctively 
poetic.  It  is  logic  aimed  to  affect  reason  and  will,  rather 
than  analogy  aimed  to  affect  imagination  and  sentiment, 
that  renders  the  oration  powerful.  The  poetic  end  is 
important;  but  not  in  circumstances  where  the  essential 
matter  is  to  influence  reason  and  will. — The  Representative 
Significance  0}  Fornix  xxvi. 

POETRY  vs.   LOGIC. 

Poetry  does  not  reveal  truth  to  us  in  logic,  but  in  light. — 
Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art,  xxiv. 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  259 

POETRY  VS.  MUSIC,  GENESIS  OF  EACH. 

When  a  man,  or  any  living  creature,  gives  vocal  expres- 
sion to  moods  that  control  him,  there  are  two  distinct  forms 
which  this  may  assume,  both  of  which,  however,  all  creatures 
cannot  always  produce.  The  sounds  may  be  either  sus- 
tained or  unsustained.  A  dog,  for  instance,  howls,  and  also 
barks;  a  cat  purrs  and  also  mews;  a  bird  warbles  and  also 
chirps;  a  man  sings  and  also  talks.  If  these  forms  be  at  all 
representative,  the  sustained  sounds  must  represent  some- 
thing sustained,  and  the  others  something  not  sustained. 
As  a  rule,  an  internal  mental  process  is  continued  or  sus- 
tained because  it  is  *iot  interrupted.  As  a  rule,  too,  that 
which  interrupts  is  external  to  the  thoughts  and  feelings 
which  constitute  the  factors  of  this  process.  Interrupt 
the  creature  producing  the  sustained  sounds, — go  out  at 
night  and  speak  to  your  howling  dog,  take  the  milk  from  a 
purring  cat,  the  nest  from  a  warbHng  bird,  or  the  plaything 
from  a  singing  child,  and  at  once  you  will  hear  sounds  of  the 
other  form, — barking,  mewing,  chirping,  or  scolding  in  words. 
We  may  say,  therefore,  that  the  sustained  form  is  mainly 
subjective,  or  spontaneous,  and  that  the  unsustained  form 
is  mainly  relative  or  responsive.  Birds  and  men  instinctively 
sing  to  meet  demands  that  come  from  within;  they  in- 
stinctively chirp  or  talk  to  meet  those  that  come  from 
without.  The  singing  sounds  continue  as  long  as  their 
producer  wishes  to  have  them;  the  chirping  and  talking 
sounds  are  checked  as  soon  as  they  have  accomplished 
their  outside  purpose,  and  are  continued  only  by  way  of 
reiteration  or  else  of  change,  in  order  to  suit  the  changing 
effects  that  they  are  perceived  to  have  upon  the  creatures 
or  persons  toward  whom  they  are  directed.  It  is  not 
essential  that  the  sustained,  singing  sounds  should  convey 
any  definite  intelligence  to  another,  because  there  is  no 
intrinsic  necessity  that  he  should  understand  them.  But 
the  unsustained  sounds  must  convey  definite  intelligence, 
because  this  is  their  object. 

These  two  conditions  respectively  correspond,  as  will  be 
observed,  to  those  that  underlie  effects  in  music  and  in 
poetry.  It  is  to  be  shown,  in  the  discussion  which  follows, 
that  there  is  a  sense  in  which  the  former  art  as  well  as 
the  latter  is  representative;  but  it  is  important  to  notice 
that  the  two  arts  are  not  representative  of  the  same  con- 
ditions.    Therefore  they  do  not  represent  in  the  same 


26o  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

way  nor  to  the  same  degree  either  mind  or  nature.  Music 
gives  expression  to  certain  classes  of  sustained  and  sub- 
jective moods,  joyous  or  sad,  concerning  which  there  is 
no  outside  or  objective  reason  for  imparting  any  specific 
or  definite  information.  The  moment  intelHgence  of  a 
particular  mood  needs  to  be  communicated  thus,  as  in 
cases  of  outside  emergency  of  an  ordinary  character,  or  of 
those  exciting  one  to  extraordinary  petulance  or  rage,  then 
the  dog  barks,  the  bird  chirps,  and  the  man,  in  order  to 
make  himself  distinctly  understood,  uses  his  throat,  tongue, 
and  lips  in  the  various  ways  that  cause  the  distinct  articu- 
lation which  characterizes  words. 

It  is  important  to  notice,  too,  that  this  difference  dis- 
tinguishable between  the  lowest  and  most  elementary  forms 
of  these  two  methods  of  vocal  representation  is  the  only  one 
that  is  fundamental.  All  the  other  distinctions  that  can 
be  made  between  sounds  characterize  alike  thOvSe  of  song 
and  of  speech.  As  will  be  shown  in  the  following  chapter, 
sounds  differ  in  time,  jorce,  pitch,  and  quality.  Accord- 
ing to  the  first,  one  sound  may  have  more  duration  than 
another.  Artistically  developed,  in  connection  with  force, 
this  difference  leads  to  rhythm.  But  there  is  rhythm  in 
poetry  as  well  as  in  music.  According  to  the  second,  one 
sound  may  be  louder  than  another.  But  this  kind  of 
emphasis  is  as  common  in  conversation  as  in  chanting. 
According  to  the  third,  one  sound  may  be  higher  in  the 
musical  scale  than  another.  Artistically  developed,  this 
leads  to  tune.  But  the  voice  rises  and  falls  in  speaking  as 
well  as  in  singing.  According  to  the  fourth,  one  sound 
may  be  more  sweet  and  resonant  than  another.  But 
the  differences  between  pure,  orotund,  guttural,  pectoral, 
and  aspirated  tones,  are  as  decided  as  are  those  between 
the  tones  in  different  parts  in  singing  and  between  the 
characters  of  the  sounds  produced  by  different  musical 
instruments. 

When  we  come  to  use  the  word  sustained,  however,  we 
can  say  that  in  music  a  tone  is  sustained  in  time,  with  a 
degree  of  force,  at  one  pitch,  and  with  one  kind  of  quality, 
in  a  sense  that  is  not  true  as  applied  to  speaking.  We 
may  use  articulated  words  in  a  song,  yet  there  is  a  radical 
difference  between  singing  them  and  talking  them;  and 
so  far  as  concerns  merely  musical  effects,  these  can  be 
produced,  as  is  often  the  case  not  only  in  instrumental  but 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  261 

even  in  vocal  music,  without  any  of  the  effects  produced 
by  articulation. 

It  is  possible  to  separate  even  more  clearly  the  original 
germ  of  musical  representation  from  that  of  poetry.  As 
shown  in  Chapter  XX.  of  "Art  in  Theory,"  the  elementary 
tendency  mainly  developed  in  music,  is  found  in  those 
instinctive  and  always  inarticulate  ejaculations  or  more 
prolonged  utterances,  as  of  fright  or  of  pleasure,  which  are 
natural  to  a  man,  and  these  utterances,  when,  intentionally 
or  artistically  repeated  for  purposes  of  expression,  come  to 
mean  what  they  do  in  fulfilment  of  the  principle  of  associ- 
ation. The  elementary  tendency  mainly  developed  in 
poetry  is  found  in  those  forms  of  articulation  used  after 
expression  ceases  to  be  wholly  instinctive  and  becomes  re- 
flective; and  in  these  forms  of  articulation,  as  shown  in  Chap- 
ter I.  of  "  Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art,"  a  man  begins  to 
imitate  what  he  hears  and  to  make  his  utterances  mean 
what  they  do  in  fulfilment  of  the  principle  of  comparison. 
At  the  same  time,  as  pointed  out  in  the  same  place,  associ- 
ation and  comparison  are  closely  allied;  and,  even  when  they 
are  most  different,  expression  is  developed  with  completeness 
in  the  degree  only  in  which  it  manifests  some  traces  of  both. 

Even  speech,  for  instance,  while  meaning  what  it  does 
on  account  mainly  of  articulation,  is,  in  part,  also  dependent, 
precisely  as  is  music,  upon  that  which  is  not  articulation 
— but  what  we  term  intonation.  A  babe  too  young  to 
talk,  a  foreigner  using  a  language  unknown  to  us,  or  a 
friend  talking  at  such  a  distance  that  his  words  are  indis- 
tinguishable, can  each,  notwithstanding  this  disadvantage, 
reveal  to  us  something  of  his  meaning.  We  can  tell  from 
his  tones,  aside  from  his  words,  whether  he  be  excited  or 
calm,  elated  or  depressed,  pleased  or  angered,  earnest  or 
indifferent.  The  effects  thus  produced  spring,  evidently, 
from  a  natural  tendency  which  causes  the  movements  or 
directions — what  we  might  term  the  general  methods  of 
the  voice — to  correspond  to  those  of  the  motives  that 
actuate  one. 

On  account  of  this  expressional  tendency  to  fulfil,  either 
by  way  of  association  or  of  comparison,  what  may  be  termed 
the  principle  of  correspondence,  the  intonations  of  speech  may 
be  said  to  be,  in  a  true  sense,  representative.  All  of  us 
must  be  aware  that  an  acquaintance  can  be  recognized  in 
the  dark  largely  because  his  conversation  is  characterized 


262  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

by  similar  ways,  at  certain  definite  intervals,  of  moving  and 
checking  and  pitching  his  utterances;  in  other  words,  be- 
cause he  has  a  certain  rhythm  and  tune  of  his  own.  Make 
one  a  public  speaker  or  a  reciter  of  stories,  like  the  min- 
strel of  former  ages,  and  these  movements  of  the  voice 
will  be  made  by  him  with  more  art  and  more  regularity. 
Hence  the  origin  of  rhythm,  as  well  as  of  chanting,  among 
those  story-tellers  who  were  the  first  poets.  Make  the 
rhythm  a  little  more  marked  and  regular  and  arranged  in 
clauses  of  the  same  length,  on  the  principle  of  putting 
like  with  like,  and  we  have  verse.  Make  the  rhythm  still 
more  marked,  by  the  use  of  similar  sounds  at  regular  inter- 
vals, and  we  have  rhyme.  Vary  the  rhythm  to  express 
different  ideas  or  classes  of  ideas,  and  we  have  the  various 
kinds  of  metre.  Vary  the  rhythm  still  more,  as  well  as 
the  upward  and  downward  movements  of  the  voice  con- 
stituting the  tune  or  chant,  and,  in  connection  with  this, 
pass  from  unsustained  to  sustained  tones,  and  we  have  a 
musical  melody.  "We  are  justified  in  assuming,"  says 
Helmholtz,  in  Part  III.,  Chapter  IX.,  of  the  "Sensations  of 
Tone,"  "that,  historically,  all  music  was  developed  from 
song.  Afterward  the  power  of  producing  similar  melodic 
effects  was  attained  by  means  of  other  instruments,  which 
had  a  quality  of  tone  compounded  in  a  manner  resembling 
that  of  the  human  voice."  Of  course,  in  connection  with 
the  development  of  melody  and  the  invention  of  musical 
instruments  came  the  arrangement  of  notes  in  musical 
scales  and  the  beginning  of  harmony;  but  these  have  to 
do  not  with  representation  in  music,  but  with  the  methods 
of  elaborating  the  form  of  representation.  At  present,  it 
is  sufficient  to  notice  that,  when  once  we  have  a  melody 
sung  in  the  notes  of  a  scale,  we  have  but  to  combine  cer- 
tain of  these  notes,  that  is,  to  sound  do,  mi,  sol,  not  succes- 
sively but  simultaneously,  and  we  have  harmony.  If, 
now,  we  produce  both  melody  and  harmony  on  different 
musical  instruments,  and,  in  connection  with  these,  sing 
without  articulating  words,  as,  in  fact,  most  singers  do, 
we  can  yet  produce  intelligible  music;  or  we  can  cease  to 
use  our  voices  at  all,  and  still  dp  the  same. 

Evidently,  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  the  sounds  as 
thus  developed  from  continuing  to  be  representative.  At 
the  same  time,  as  has  been  intimated,  there  is  no  reason 
why  they  should  be  representative  in  a  way  as  unmistak- 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  263 

ably  distinct  and  definite  as  we  find  in  language;  and  they 
are  not  so.  Berlioz,  we  are  told,  used  to  amuse  himself 
by  singing  tunes  with  Italian  words,  and  waiting  till  his 
hearers  had  demonstrated  how  successfully  the  character 
of  the  Italian  verse  had  inspired  the  composer,  when  he 
would  inform  them  that  the  music  was  from  a  symphony 
of  Beethoven.  We  must  all  have  noticed,  too,  how  scores 
of  different  sets  of  words,  describing  or  expressing  by  no 
means  the  same  experiences  or  conceptions,  may  often, 
with  equal  appropriateness,  be  sung  to  the  same  melody. 
But,  while  this  is  so,  it  is  worthy  of  note  that  in  certain 
general  features,  especially  in  expressing  certain  phases  of 
feeling,  all  these  verses  must  be  alike.  They  must  all,  for 
instance,  be  either  joyous  or  sad,  or  represent  either  elation 
or  depression.  With  this  general  and  mainly  emotive 
method  of  representation,  music  must  be  content. — Rhythm 
and  Harmony  in  Poetry  and  Music:  Music  as  a  Representa- 
tive Art,  I. 

POETRY    vs.    PAINTING    AND    OTHER   ART-FORMS    {see    FORM, 
STUDY  of). 

Poetry  bears  the  same  relation  to  the  arts  of  sound  that 
painting  and  sculpture  bear  to  those  of  sight.  All  three 
are  largely  imitative.  Poetry  reproduces  in  an  artistic 
guise  what  might  be  heard  in  nature,  if  a  man  were  telling 
a  story,  or  if  several  men  were  conversing.  Painting  and 
sculpture  reproduce  in  an  artistic  guise  what  might  be  seen 
in  nature.  For  this  reason  it  is  possible  to  be  interested, 
though  not  artistically  interested,  in  the  products  of  each 
of  these  arts,  on  account  merely  of  that  which  they  portray, 
irrespective  of  the  style  or  form  in  which  they  portray  it. 
But  the  converse  is  true  with  reference  to  music  and  archi- 
tecture. These  arts  are  only  slightly  imitative,  and  if 
we  be  interested  in  them  at  all,  it  is  owing  almost  entirely 
to  their  style  or  form.  But  we  must  not  make  the  mis- 
take of  inferring  from  this  fact  that  style  or  form  is  unim- 
portant in  the  former  arts;  in  other  words,  that  the  laws 
of  tone  as  tone  must  not  be  fulfilled  in  poetry,  or  of  color 
as  color  in  painting.  It  is  chiefly  with  reference  to  poetry 
that  this  mistake  is  likely  to  be  made.  Admirers  of  Whit- 
man might  possibly — were  they  logical,  which,  fortunately, 
they  are  not — be  ready  to  deny  that  the  laws  of  sound  apply 
to  poetry  in  the  same  sense  as  to  music.     And  yet  they  are 


264  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

as  imperative  in  the  one  art  as  in  the  other,  though,  of 
course,  in  a  different  degree  and  way. — Rhythm  and  Har- 
mony in  Poetry  and  Music,  vii. 

POPULARITY  AS  A  TEST  OF  ART. 

It  is  because  no  soul  can  sympathize  with  a  conception 
higher  than  its  own  best  possibiHties  that  popular  art,  as  a 
rule,  embodies  views  of  life  which  are  common  to  all  men, 
rather  than  peculiar  to  a  few.  It  is  because  love  is  univer- 
sal, that  love-stories  are  the  most  universally  popular.  At 
the  same  time,  of  course,  popularity  is  not  a  sufficient 
criterion  by  which  to  judge  of  art — any  more  than  of  any- 
thing else.  The  value  of  the  popularity  depends  upon  its 
quality,  and,  in  art,  which  involves  an  appeal  to  intelligence 
and  experience,  it  depends  upon  the  quality  of  these. — The 
Representative  Significance  of  Form,  xiv. 

PORTRAIT,  WHEN  RANKING  HIGHEST. 

The  portrait  and  the  bust,  which  reproduce  the  forms  of 
nature  most  perfectly,  are  not  necessarily  entitled  to  the 
highest  rank ;  and  when  they  are  entitled  to  it,  like  the  works 
of  Titian  or  Velasquez,  they  rank  thus  not  merely  on  account 
of  the  accuracy  of  their  imitation,  but  also  because,  in 
addition  to  this,  they  have  the  quality  to  which  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds  referred  when  he  snapped  his  fingers,  saying  of  a 
work,  "It  wants  that.''  No  matter,  at  present,  what  this 
quality  is.  .  .  .  Just  now,  it  is  enough  for  us  to  recognize 
that  the  value  of  a  portrait  or  a  bust  does  not  depend 
alone  upon  its  accuracy  as  a  copy.  Nor,  even  were  this  the 
case,  could  ** natural,"  as  the  term  is  used,  be  applied  to  it 
with  any  more  propriety  than  to  a  picture  of  the  Madonna, 
whom  Raphael  never  saw;  or  to  a  landscape  of  scenes  in 
Greece  which  Rottmann  never  beheld;  or  to  a  statue  of  the 
struggles  of  a  Laocoon,  which  existed  only  in  the  brain  of  a 
Virgil. — Idem,  xii. 

PORTRAITS,    HOW   MADE    IDEAL. 

It  may  be  said  that  when  any  portrait  is  to  be  painted, 
that  of  which  the  great  artist  thinks  is  not  merely  outline 
and  color,  but  the  thoughts  and  emotions  which  outline 
and  color,  in  the  particular  face  before  him,  can  be  made  to 
suggest.  He  asks  what  is  the  character,  and  what  is  the 
influence  upon  the  mind,  of  the  particular  character  that  is 
to  be  portrayed.  Take  a  boy.  If  he  be  athletic  in  his 
tendencies,  his  character  may  be  best  brought  out  by  stand- 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  265 

ing  him  up  in  a  lawn-tennis  suit  with  a  racket  in  his  hand :  if 
studious,  by  sitting  him  down  with  a  book.  In  both  cases, 
the  pose  can  be  made  to  tell  its  own  story.  In  the  latter  case, 
if  he  be  gazing  up  from  his  book  with  a  dreamy,  far-away 
look  in  his  eyes,  the  picture,  though  a  portrait,  may  be 
made  to  have  all  the  interest  that  might  attach  to  an 
idealization  named  "The  Young  Newton,"  or  "The 
Young  Scott";  and,  no  matter  whose  boy  it  may  be,  he 
will  seem  interesting  to  every  one.  What  makes  any 
portrait  the  opposite,  is  less  the  fact  that  the  person  por- 
trayed is  uninteresting,  than  the  fact  that  the  artist  has 
not  had  enough  penetration  to  discover  what  the  traits 
are  that  are  interesting,  uniformly  and  universally;  or 
the  ingenuity  to  extract  them  from  their  lurking-places 
and  reveal  and  emphasize  them. — Painting,  Sculpture,  and 
Architecture  as  Representative  ArtSy  xiv. 

PORTRAITURE,  IDEAL. 

To  go  back  to  portraits.  By  the  exercise  of  a  little 
brain-work  it  is  always  possible,  in  picturing  a  person,  to 
introduce  something  which,  without  verbal  interpretation, 
will  represent,  and  enable  the  mind  to  recognize,  his  char- 
acter.    This  causes  what  is  termed  ideal  portraiture. — Idem, 

PRACTICAL  AIM  IN  ART-STUDY  {see  STANDARDS). 

In  any  study  of  art,  however,  it  must  always  be  borne 
in  mind  that  to  reach  a  philosophical  result  is  not  the  sole 
or  the  chief  aim.  This  aim  is  practical ;  and  it  was  a  practi- 
cal aim  that  first  suggested  this  series  of  volumes.  At  a 
time  when  their  writer  was  an  author  and  a  teacher,  looking 
for  guidance  and  finding  none,  most  of  the  criticism  of  the 
day,  whether  of  poetry,  painting,  or  architecture,  revealed 
an  absence  of  any  standards  of  judgment,  if  not  a  disbelief 
in  the  possibility  of  their  existence.  Indeed,  some  of  the 
foremost  leaders  in  criticism  took  the  ground  that  there  are 
no  such  standards,  an  opinion  virtually  maintained,  despite 
all  protests  to  the  contrary,  in  what  are,  perhaps,  the  fresh- 
est and  most  suggestive  of  the  books  on  aesthetics  that  have 
been  produced  even  very  lately. — Proportion  and  Harmony 
of  Line  and  Color,  xxvi. 

PRACTICE  AND  ART-PRODUCTS  {see  also  DRILL,  INSPIRED,  and 
SKILL  AND  REVISION). 

It  is  true,  of  course,  that  no  amount  of  practice  can  enable 
some  to  become  artists,  and  that,  in  exceptional  cases  or 


266  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

upon  extraordinary  occasions,  some  may  produce  genuine 
works  of  art  who  have  practised  little;  but,  as  a  rule,  practice 
is  indispensable  if  one  wish  to  attain  the  characteristics 
supposed  to  be  possessed  habitually  by  the  great  artists. — 
The  Representative  Significance  of  Form,  xiii. 

PRACTICE   AND    PROFICIENCY. 

In  all  education,  as  in  musical,  in  which  everyone  recog- 
nizes the  fact,  later  proficiency  is  the  result  of  early  practice 
and  patience.  The  expert  in  using  all  the  elements  of  sound 
began  his  familiarity  with  them  by  being  introduced  to 
them,  one  by  one,  and  over  and  over  again,  because  he 
could  not  elsewise  remember  them;  and  the  thrill  that  we 
get  when  he  masters  his  forces  is  the  direct  result  of  the  drill 
that  he  got  from  those  who  mastered  him  when  a  boy. — 
Essay  on  Fundamentals  in  Education. 

PRACTICE,  ITS  EFFECTS  {see  also  INSPIRED,  THE,  and  skill). 
Exactly  what  was  it  that  practice  had  thus  done  for 
Beethoven  ?  ...  It  had  given  his  fingers  muscular  flexi- 
bility, enabling  them  to  sound  upon  an  instrument  what- 
ever notes  a  composition  demanded.  But  besides  this, 
practice  had  given  the  brain  controlling  his  fingers  what  also 
we  might  term  flexibility;  and  it  had  given  the  mind,  too, 
lodged  in  his  brain,  a  mental  habit  of  using  the  right  fingers 
in  the  right  places,  and  all  the  fingers  in  the  right  orders 
of  succession.  Beyond  this,  it  had  enabled  his  mind  to 
comprehend  in  a  single  glance  large  groups  of  notes  on  a 
printed  staff  and,  no  matter  how  numerous  and  complex,  to 
send  his  knowledge  of  them  through  the  nerves,  and  transfer 
them  to  sound  with  precision  and  yet  with  the  rapidity  of 
lightning.  Moreover,  all  this,  which,  when  he  began,  had 
involved  the  slow  and  painful  process  of  consciously  think- 
ing of  each  note  on  a  printed  staff,  and  of  each  corresponding 
key  on  an  instrument,  practice  had  enabled  him  to  do  at 
last  unconsciously  at  the  same  time  that  all  his  conscious 
powers  were  employed  in  giving  expression  to  the  general 
effect. — The  Representative  Significance  of  Form,  xiii. 

PRACTICE  OF  ELEMENTS,  ESSENTIAL  TO  PERFECTION. 

My  theory  is,  that,  in  the  degree  in  which  any  essential 
characteristic  of  delivery  is  defective,  there  is  not  a  move- 
ment of  the  elbow,  wrist,  or  fingers,  of  the  lungs,  larynx, 
palate,  or  tongue,  which  can  be  freed  from  defect  except  as 
a  result  of  automatic  action  acquired  through  a  slow  and 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  267 

laborious  practice  of  exercises,  every  feature  of  which  has 
been  accurately  described  by  the  instructor  and  put  into 
execution  by  the  pupil;  for  no  matter  how  rapid  or  how 
slight  a  gesture  or  a  tone  may  be,  the  eye  or  the  ear  will  be 
sure  to  detect  and  feel  any  defect  whatever  in  its  expres- 
sional  quality. — Essay  on  The  Function  of  Technique, 

PRINCIPALITY  IN  ART. 

In  hearing  the  song  of  a  bird  or  a  man,  we  may  observe 
chiefly  the  time  filled  by  the  different  tones  or  their  move- 
ments up  and  down  the  scale;  in  looking  at  a  tree  we  may 
observe  chiefly  the  outlines  formed  by  its  leaves,  branches, 
or  general  contour,  or  by  its  color;  but  whatever  we  may 
observe,  it  seems  to  be  a  law  of  the  mind  that  usually 
only  one  of  the  many  features  perceived  attracts  special 
attention.  The  fact  that  this  is  so,  has  much  to  do  with 
causing  the  song  or  tree — notwithstanding  the  different 
effects  of  its  component  parts — to  appear  to  be  one 
thing  and  not  many.  That  which  attracts  special  atten- 
tion in  these  cases — whatever  it  may  be — is  that  which 
seems  to  the  observer  to  have  principality^.  Everything 
else,  of  course,  appears  subordinate,^  while  the  degree  in 
which  all  the  factors  together — whether  principal  or  sub- 
ordinate— blend  so  as  to  suggest  the  completeness  or 
equilibrium  of  the  whole  gives  the  measure  of  the  com- 
plement  or  balance^. — The  Genesis  of  Art-Form,  III. 

PROGRESS,  AS  REPRESENTED  IN  ART. 

It  is  almost  impossible  to  conceive  of  any  painting  or 
statue,  however  small,  in  which  the  progress^  of  the  idea  in 
its  advance  to  take  possession  of  the  whole  body  of  the 
subject  or  subjects,  might  not  be  represented.  In  a  human 
figure,  the  expression  of  the  face  may  be  in  advance  of  that 
of  the  arms  or  hands,  the  expressions  of  these  in  advance  of 
that  of  the  lower  limbs,  while  at  the  same  time  the  adjust- 
ments of  the  clothing  may  give  scarcely  any  indications  of 
that  which  has  begun  to  influence  the  body  underneath  it. — 
Ideniy  XVII. 

PROGRESS,  REPRESENTED  IN  ARCHITECTURE. 

Nor  is  it  less  possible  to  represent  the  effects  of  progress^ 
in  buildings.  In  many  of  the  English  cathedrals  the  whole 
development  of  Gothic  architecture  from  the  Norman, 
through  the  pointed,  decorated,  and  perpendicular,  can  be 

'See  page  89  of  "An  Art-Philosopher's  Cabinet." 


268  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

traced  literally  in  the  different  forms  used  in  different  parts. 
But  progress  in  such  a  literal  sense  is  not  essential,  nor  is  it 
always  consistent  with  unity  ^.  When,  according  to  the 
method  of  gradation^  described  a  moment  ago,  one  form  of 
arch  is  used  above  the  lower  openings,  and  another  sharper 
development  of  the  same  over  higher  openings,  and  another 
still  sharper  over  the  highest,  we  have  a  representation  of 
progress  of  a  more  desirable  kind.  So,  too,  we  have  the 
same  in  the  interior  of  a  cathedral,  when  the  arches  above 
seern  to  grow  like  limbs  of  trees  out  of  the  shafts  below 
them,  and  when  the  chancel  beyond  the  nave,  to  which  so 
many  lines  of  the  walls  and  ceiling  point,  seems,  with  its 
finer  elaboration  of  the  resources  of  outline  and  its  grander 
wealth  of  color  in  window  and  altar,  to  burst  upon  the 
vision  like  a  flower,  for  which  all  the  rest  has  furnished  only 
a  splendid  preparation  for  unfoldment. — Idem,  xvii. 

PROPORTION  (see  also  references  to  the  subject  under  archi- 
tecture, PERSPECTIVE,  and  rhythm). 

The  term  proportion,  when  used  in  a  non-technical  sense, 
signifies  frequently  little  more  than  measurement.  When 
we  say  that  a  house  has  the  proportions  of  a  palace,  or  a 
growing  boy  the  proportions  of  a  man,  we  mean  merely 
that  the  one  is  as  large  as  the  other,  or  has  the  same 
general  measurements.  In  addition  to  this,  however, 
there  is  often  connected  with  the  term,  when  carefully 
used,  a  conception  of  a  comparison  of  measurements. 
When  we  say  of  a  man  that  his  feet  are  out  of  proportion,  or 
of  a  copy  of  a  Greek  temple,  that  its  pediment  is  out  of 
proportion,  we  are  probably  recalling  a  normally  developed 
man  or  an  ancient  Greek  temple.  If  so,  we  mean  that,  in 
the  specimen  before  us,  the  measurements  of  the  parts 
mentioned  are  not  the  same  as  in  the  specimen  of  which  we 
are  thinking. 

There  may  be  two  reasons  why  these  measurements  are 
not  the  same:  one  reason,  because  they  are  absolutely 
larger  or  smaller  than  in  this  specimen;  the  other  reason, 
because  they  are  relatively  so,  a  hand  or  a  limb  being  said 
to  be  in  proportion  because  its  measurements,  whether 
large  or  small,  bear  the  same  relation  to  the  parts  or  to 
the  whole  of  a  body  that  they  do  in  the  typical  man  which 
is  supposed  to  be  the  artist's  model. 

»See  page  89  of  "An  Art-Philosopher's  Cabinet." 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  269 

But  proportion  has  still  another  meaning.  From  this, 
any  conception  of  imitation,  whether  or  not  suggested  by 
any  particular  model,  is  absent;  and  a  part  is  said  to  be  in 
proportion  because  of  the  relationship  which  its  measure- 
ments sustain  to  the  measurements  of  other  parts  or  to 
the  whole  of  a  product.  This  seems  to  be  the  meaning 
when  we  speak  of  the  proportions  of  the  human  figure, 
irrespective  of  any  references  to  attempts  to  copy  any  par- 
ticular model;  and  it  certainly  is  the  meaning  when  we 
speak  of  the  proportions  of  a  building  in  a  style  such  as 
has  never  before  had  existence,  ...  in  this  sense,  propor- 
tion includes  the  ideas,  both  of  ratios  or  relationships,  as 
in  1:2,  and  also  of  Hkeness  or  equality  in  ratios,  as  in  1:2:: 
3 : 6. — Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color,  11. 

The  view  expressed  in  Gwilt's  "Encyclopedia  of  Archi- 
tecture, "  and  still  quite  prevalent,  to  the  effect  that  pro- 
portion is  "but  a  synonym  for  fitness,"  is  entirely  ignored. 
This  is  not  because  of  any  undervaluation  of  the  aesthetic 
importance  of  fitness,  but  because  it  is  recognized  that  this 
latter  characterizes  many  other  artistic  arrangements  of 
form,  as  those  of  rhythm,  tune,  and  color;  and  because  it  is 
recognized  also  that  no  amount  of  mere  fitness  could  cause, 
or  even  suggest,  that  which  is  generally  meant  not  only  by 
artists  but  by  people  in  general  when  they  speak  of  pro- 
portion. When  using  this  term  in  any  strict  or  technical 
sense  they  almost  invariably  refer  to  an  effect  of  measure- 
ments indicating  a  certain  mathematical  relationship 
between  the  parts  of  a  product  as  compared  with  one 
another  and  with  the  whole. — Ideniy  Preface. 

Artistic  proportion  is  based  in  this  volume,  as  all  acknow- 
ledge rhythm  to  be,  upon  the  principle  of  comparison.  It 
is  held  that,  fundamentally,  measurements  go  together 
because  they  appear  to  be  exactly  alike,  that  is,  as  1:1; 
and  that  the  mind  accepts  the  ratios  of  certain  small  num- 
bers that  are  not  alike,  like  i :  2  or  2 :  3,  because  it  is  able  to 
recognize  in  the  first  that  which  corresponds  to  I :  I  + 1 ,  and 
in  the  second  that  which  corresponds  to  i-f-i:i  +  i  +  i. — 
Idem,  Preface. 

If,  however,  the  relationship  be  not  that  of  1:1,  the  next 
easiest  to  recognize  is  that  of  i :  2.  .  .  .  Nor  is  it  difficult  to 
recognize  the  relationship  of  i :  3,  as  between  the  second  pair 
of  lines  in  this  figure,  or  of  2 : 3,  as  between  the  third  pair. 


270  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET  ' 

But  it  is  evident  that  as  the  values  of  the  numbers  represent- 
ing the  ratios  increase,  these  become  less  recognizable;  as, 
for  instance,  when  they  are  as  4:5  or  as  5:7,  as  between, 
respectively,  the  fourth  and  fifth  pairs  of  lines  in  this  Fig. 
16.  When,  at  last,  we  get  to  a  relationship  that  can  be 
expressed  only  by  large  numbers  like  10:11,  or  15:16,  the 
mind  is  no  longer  able  to  recognize  even  its  existence. — 
Idem,  IV. 

What  has  been  said  will  show  us  a  good  reason,  too, 
why,  as  affirmed  by  W.  W.  Lloyd  in  his  ''Memoir  on  the 
Systems  of  Proportion,"  published  with  Cockerill's  **  Tem- 
ples of  ^gina  and  Bassse,"  p.  64,  "the  Greek  architects 
attached  great  value  to  simple  ratios  of  low  natural  num- 
bers."  Of  course,  the  simpler  the  ratio,  and  lower  the 
number,  the  more  easily  could  each  be  recognized. — Idem, 
II. 

Notice,  again,  that  proportion,  as  it  is  thus  attributed  to 
measurements  that  are  compared,  is  merely  a  statement  of 
a  fact;  nor  is  it  essential  that  the  mind,  before  stating  this 
fact,  should  recognize  what  the  ratio  is,  only  that  it  has 
existence.  The  same  principle  applies  here  as  in  rhythm. 
To  experience  the  effects  of  this,  we  do  not  need  to  be 
able  to  tell  what  the  metre  is — whether  long  or  short, 
iambic  or  trochaic — only  that  there  is  a  metre.  But  while 
this  is  true,  the  metre  must  be  capable  of  being  analyzed; 
and  we  must  feel  that  it  is  so,  although,  perhaps,  we  our- 
selves do  not  actually  go  through  with  the  analytic  process. 
Idem,  II. 

The  mind  takes  satisfaction  not  in  the  ratio  per  se,  but 
in  that  which  the  ratio  enables  it  to  recognize,  which  is  that, 
in  fulfilment  of  the  fundamental  art-method,  measurements 
have  been  put  together  which  are  alike  as  to  their  parts.  .  .  . 
This  is  not  the  explanation  usually  given  for  effects  of 
proportion.  But  it  is  the  explanation  most  consistent 
with  that  usually  given  for  effects  of  rhythm;  it  is  the 
explanation  most  consistent  with  all  the  methods  of  art  as 
unfolded  in  "  The  Genesis  of  Art-Form"  (see  also  chart 
on  page  89  of  the  present  volume) ;  and,  finally,  it  is  the 
explanation  which  can  render  most  easy  and  simple  the 
practical  application  of  the  principle  to  all  possible  visible 
efiEects. — Idem,  viii. 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  271 

As  rhythm  starts  by  putting  together  similar  small  parts 
such  as  feet  and  lines,  and  produces  the  general  effect  of  the 
whole  as  a  result  of  the  combined  effects  of  these  parts,  so 
does  artistic  proportion.  For  instance,  the  height  of  the 
front  of  the  Parthenon  is  to  its  breadth  as  9: 14.  But  we 
need  not  consider  the  architect  as  aiming  primarily  at  this 
proportion ;  or  that  it  is  any  more  than  a  secondary,  though, 
of  course,  a  necessary  result  of  the  relations,  the  one  to  the 
other,  of  the  different  separate  measurements  put  together 
in  order  to  form  the  whole. — Idem,  Preface. 

PROPORTION  AND  RHYTHM  NATURAL  TO  MAN. 

There  is  no  primitive  kind  of  ornamentation,  no  matter 
how  barbarous  the  race  originating  it,  of  which  one  char- 
acteristic, perhaps  the  most  marked,  is  not  an  exact  division 
or  subdivision  of  spaces,  the  mind,  apparently,  deriving  the 
same  sort  of  satisfaction  from  rude  lines  of  paint  and 
scratchings  upon  stone,  made  at  proportional  distances  from 
one  another,  that  it  does  from  the  rhythmical  sounds 
drummed  with  feet,  hands,  or  sticks  to  accompany  the  song 
and  dance  of  the  savage. — Idem,  11. 

An  appreciation  of  rhythm  is  usually  supposed  to  furnish 
the  earliest  evidence  of  aesthetic  capability  on  the  part  of 
either  a  child  or  a  savage.  In  fact,  almost  the  only  form  of 
musical  harmony  over  large  sections  of  the  earth  to-day 
continues  still  to  be  merely  a  rude  development  of  rhythm. 
But  what  is  rhythm  ?  A  result  of  making,  by  series  of  noises 
or  strokes,  certain  like  divisions  of  time — small  divisions, 
and  exact  multiples  of  them  in  large  divisions.  But  the 
moment  that  the  smaller  become  so  numerous  that  the  fact 
that  they  exactly  go  into  the  larger  divisions  is  no  longer 
perceptible — as  often,  when  we  hear  more  even  than  eight 
notes  in  a  musical  measure,  or  more  even  than  three  syllables 
in  a  poetic  foot, — the  effect  ceases  to  be  rhythmical.  A 
like  fact  is  true  of  proportion.  Owing  to  the  very  great 
possibilities  and  complications  of  outlinings,  as  in  squares, 
angles,  and  curves,  its  laws  are  intricate  and  difficult  to 
apply;  but,  as  will  be  shown  in  the  volume  of  this  series 
entitled  **  Proportion  and  Harmony  in  Painting,  Sculptiu'e, 
and  Architecture,"  the  harmonic  effects  of  proportion  all 
result,  in  the  last  analysis,  from  exact  divisions  and  sub- 
divisions of  space  in  every  way  analogous  to  the  methods 


272  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

underlying  the  effects  of  rhythm  in  time. — Art  in  Theory ^ 

XII. 

PROPORTION  AND  RHYTHM  RECOGNIZED  BY  CONSCIOUS 
MEASUREMENT. 

The  effect  of  proportion  is  attributed  in  this  volume  to 
the  mind's  conscious  as  distinguished  from  unconscious 
measurements.  This  distinction  is  the  logical  result 
of  a  conception  of  an  essential  correspondence  between 
proportion  and  rhythm.  In  the  latter  the  mind  is  always 
consciously  able  to  count,  if  it  choose,  the  notes,  syllables, 
feet,  bars,  lines,  phrases — in  other  words  the  measures  or 
measurements — which  cause  the  effect.  This  is  the  same  as 
to  say  that  proportion  in  the  arts  of  sight  is  not,  as  has  been 
almost  universally  supposed  (see  Chapter  III.),  the  analogue 
of  harmony  in  the  arts  of  sound.  Harmony  is  produced  in 
these  arts  whenever  the  number  of  vibrations  per  second 
determining  the  pitch  of  one  tone  sustains  a  certain  ratio  to 
the  number  of  vibrations  per  second  determining  the  pitch 
of  another  tone.  But  only  the  investigations  of  science 
have  been  able  to  discover  that  this  is  the  reason  for  the 
effect.  The  mind  cannot  count  the  vibrations.  It  is  not 
conscious  of  them;  but  only  of  an  agreeable  thrill  or  glow 
experienced  when  different  rates  of  vibration  sustain  to  one 
another  the  required  harmonic  ratio.  Now  if  we  go  upon 
the  supposition  that  the  measurements  determining  the 
effects  of  proportion  are  ascertained  just  as  are  those  deter- 
mining the  effects  of  harmony,  it  is  evident  that  we  must 
suppose  ourselves  dealing  with  factors  of  which  the  mind  is 
unconscious;  and  must  remain  ignorant  until  science  has 
come  into  possession  of  certain  data  not  yet  discovered.  Is 
it  any  wonder  that  those  accepting  this  supposition  who 
have  tried  to  explain  the  effects,  have  either  held  that 
they  cannot  be  explained  at  all,  or  have  made  attempts 
at  explanation  which  may  be  said  in  a  general  way  to 
have  failed  to  prove  convincing?  Is  it  any  wonder  that, 
even  when  acknowledging  that  the  Greeks  once  had  a 
knowledge  of  the  subject,  very  many  in  our  own  times, 
after  seeking  for  this  knowledge  in  wrong  directions,  have 
conceived  of  the  subject  as  hidden  in  almost  impenetrable 
mystery, — as  involving  principles  which  it  is  well-nigh 
useless  for  present  artists  to  attempt  either  to  understand 
or  to  apply? — Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color, 
Preface. 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  273 

proportion    dependent    on   apparent    measurements 

{see  general  and  distant  vs.  specific  and  near 

effects). 

This   effect   of  proportion   thus   interpreted   is  further 

limited  in  this  book  by  being  ascribed  to  measurements 

that    are   apparent   as   distinguished   from   actual.     It   is 

shown  that  we  judge  of  the  proportions  of  the  parts  of  a 

body  or  of  a  building  when  viewing  each  from  a  distance,  not 

when  examining  it  near  at  hand. — Idem,  Preface. 

An  apparent  measurement  necessitates,  at  times,  not 
only  a  different  result  from  an  actual  measurement,  but  also 
a  different  conception  of  what  should  be  measured.  As  an 
instance  of  a  different  result,  consider  how  the  leg  between 
the  heel  and  the  place  where  it  separates  from  the  body  is 
apparently  divided  at  the  knee  into  two  equal  parts.  This 
is  not  a  result  of  having  the  half  below  the  knee  of  the  same 
length  as  the  half  above  it.  Being  slimmer,  the  lower  half 
would  appear  longer,  were  it  not  in  reality  slightly  shorter. 
Again,  as  an  instance  of  a  different  conception,  consider 
the  measurement  of  the  ankle.  Ordinarily,  we  should 
suppose  this  to  be  a  dimension  determined  by  its  circum- 
ference. But,  when  considering  effects  of  appearances,  it 
is  not  the  circumference  that  concerns  us,  but  the  appar- 
ent distance  from  one  side  of  the  ankle  to  its  other  side, 
as  it  is  seen  from  a  single  point  of  view. — Idem,  viii. 

When  a  man  with  a  yardstick  is  measuring,  close  at  hand, 
the  parts  of  the  Parthenon,  then,  according  to  the  gener- 
ally accepted  representation,  he  is  studying  proportion. 
But  he  is  really  doing  nothing  of  the  sort.  He  is  studying 
proportion,  when  he  is  standing  at  a  distance  from  the 
building  and  noticing  the  parts  of  it,  which,  from  that  dis- 
tance, appear  to  fulfil  the  requirements  of  those  comparative 
measurements  which  proportion  necessitates.  When  he  is 
close  against  the  building  with  his  yardstick,  he  is  more 
apt  to  be  learning  the  differences  between  measurements 
as  they  are,  and  as,  from  a  distance,  they  appear  to  be,  the 
consideration  of  which  differences  and  the  methods  of 
obviating  them  furnish  the  subject-matter  not  of  proportion 
but  of  perspective.  In  the  case  of  the  Greeks,  too,  as  we 
shall  find,  the  principles  of  the  latter  were  applied  in  order 
to  produce  distant  appearances  of  proportion  not  only,  but 
also  of  height,  breadth,  straightness,  parallelism,  and  other 

x8 


274  ^^  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

effects,  which,  in  addition  to  those  of  proportion,  were 
deemed  desirable.  As  said  in  the  preceding  chapter,  a  chief 
reason  why  the  requirements  of  proportion  are  supposed 
to  be  involved  in  impenetrable  mystery,  and  why,  therefore, 
the  neglect  of  them  in  our  own  day  is  supposed  to  be  excus- 
able, is  traceable  to  this  confounding  of  these  two  entirely 
different  subjects  of  inquiry. — Idem,  iv. 

As  the  principles  of  proportion  have  reference  to  appear- 
ances and  to  these  alone,  they  cannot  be  fulfilled  in  a  satis- 
factory way  without  regard  to  circumstances.  A  number 
of  straight  lines  enclosed  within  a  space,  for  instance,  in- 
crease the  apparent  length  of  that  space  in  the  direction  in 
which  they  point  or  incline.  Any  other  spaces  containing 
no  such  lines,  yet  intended  to  appear  of  equal  length  with 
it,  ought  really,  therefore,  to  be  a  little  longer.  Again,  if 
when  we  are  looking  at  a  building  a  projecting  cornice  hide 
part  of  a  wall,  window,  pediment,  or  roof  that  is  above  the 
cornice,  so  that  this  upper  part  appears  too  short  or  too  low 
to  be  in  good  proportion,  then,  as  we  shall  find  was  the  case 
in  the  Parthenon,  it  must  be  made  longer  or  higher,  no 
matter  what  its  real  measurement  may  be.  The  end  to  be 
attained  is  not  factors  with  like  or  related  measurements, 
but  factors  that  appear  to  have  these. — Idem,  ix. 

Whether  applied  to  exteriors  or  interiors,  the  important 
consideration  is  that  there  should  be  some  apparent  relation- 
ship between  the  length,  height,  and  breadth.  If  we 
perceive  that  there  is  such  a  relationship,  our  minds  are 
satisfied.  If  we  fail  to  perceive  it,  they  are  confused;  the 
effects  are  distracting  and  disquieting.  As  wAl  presently 
be  shown,  the  use,  on  exteriors,  of  window-caps,  string- 
courses, cornices,  pilasters,  pillars,  and  also  of  some  of  these, 
as  well  as  of  color  and  of  upholstery  in  interiors,  may  some- 
times counteract  a  confusing  tendency.  But  sometimes, 
too,  it  cannot;  and  when  needing  to  suggest  relationships 
that  do  not  really  exist,  it  can  never  do  so  except  by  ap- 
parently shortening  or  lengthening  actual  dimensions. — 
Idem,  IX. 

It  is  well-nigh  impossible  to  distinguish  such  effects  as 
are  attributable  to  the  measurements,  from  such  as  are 
attributable  to  the  outlines  that  are  measured.  For 
instance  when  one  says  that  the  angles  described  by  the 
coverings  over  the  gable-windows,  turrets,  and  different 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  275 

parts  of  the  roof  in  Fig.  2^,  page  51,  are  not  in  proportion, 
he  necessarily  refers  to  appearances  produced  both  by 
measurements  and  by  shapes.  In  the  mind  of  the  observer, 
therefore,  the  two  different  classes  of  efEects  are  often 
confounded.— /i^m,  ix. 

PROPORTION  DEPENDENT  ON  APPEARANCES. 

A  very  convincing  proof  of  this  may  be  obtained  from  the 
facade  of  St.  Sulpice,  Paris.  Has  any  one  ever  looked  at 
this  church  without  finding  himself  involuntarily  asking 
why  it  is  that  its  proportions  seem  so  unsatisfactory?  And 
yet  it  is  not  because  the  measurements,  as  applied  to  the 
building  as  a  whole,  violate  any  of  the  principles  of  propor- 
tion. The  extreme  width  of  each  tower  is  to  the  width  of 
the  space  between  the  towers  exactly  as  1:2.  Could  any 
scheme  of  ratios  be  more  simple?  Why,  then,  does  it  not 
appear  so  ?  Why,  but  because  of  the  five  divisions  made  by 
the  pillars  in  the  space  between  the  towers?  How  can  the 
mind  recognize  that  each  tower's  width  is  to  the  space  as 
1:2,  or,  what  is  the  same  thing,  as  2:4,  when  it  sees  five 
instead  of  four  divisions  in  this  space?  It  cannot  do  so, 
or,  at  least,  not  without  at  first  being  confused.  Were  there 
a  pediment  above  the  cornice  over  the  nave,  the  apex  of 
this  would  divide  the  space  there  into  two  equal  parts;  or 
were  the  central  door  of  the  nave  made  more  prominent 
than  the  two  doors  each  side  of  it,  then  the  present  unfortu- 
nate effect  would  be  prevented.  But  if  such  changes  cannot 
be  made,  the  mind  would  be  better  satisfied,  in  that  it 
would  judge  the  proportions  to  be  more  correct,  even  on  a 
supposition  that  they  were  2 : 4,  in  case  there  were  between 
the  towers  only  four  divisions  of  the  width  of  the  present 
ones,  making  the  proportions,  in  fact,  less  correct. — Idem,  ix. 

PROPORTION,   GREEK,   MISUNDERSTOOD. 

There  were  many  of  the  dimensions  which  the  modem 
Hellenist  would  follow  slavishly,  which  the  Greeks  used  on 
account  not  of  what  they  were,  but  of  what  they  appeared  to 
be.  Nor,  even  admitting  that  the  proportions  were  used 
on  account  of  what  they  were,  is  it  certain  that  the  parts  of 
the  buildings  which  modern  students  suppose  these  pro- 
portions to  determine  are  the  parts  which  the  Greeks 
intended  them  to  determine.  When,  for  example,  the 
height  of  a  temple,  pediment  included,  is  to  its  breadth 
as  7: 12,  or  9: 14,  is  this  ratio  the  cause  of  these  dimensions, 


276  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

or  only  an  incidental  and,  therefore,  almost  accidental 
result  of  arrangements  for  which  the  cause  is  to  be  sought 
elsewhere, — for  instance,  in  a  desire  to  make  the  entabla- 
ture and  pediment  appear  of  the  same  height,  and  both 
together  to  appear  to  sustain  a  certain  ratio  to  the  columnar 
space  below  them? — Idem,  xi. 

PROPORTION    IN    ARCHITECTURE. 

Architecture,  like  music,  deals  with  forms  that  to  only 
a  limited  extent  can  be  said  to  result  from  an  imitation  of 
nature.  In  some  regards,  this  fact  gives  the  builder  greater 
freedom  for  invention  than  is  possible  in  painting  and 
sculpture.  He  is  not  expected  to  accept  forms  as  he  finds 
them.  Like  the  musician,  who  is  at  liberty  to  shorten  and 
lengthen  sounds  so  as  to  make  them  rhythmical,  he  is  at 
liberty  to  shorten  and  lengthen  shapes  so  as  to  make  them 
proportional.  But  this  fact  places  him,  in  some  regards, 
under  peculiar  restraints.  If  the  effects  of  the  proportion 
produced  by  him  must  depend  upon  his  own  invention,  it  is 
particularly  necessary  for  him  to  understand  what  the  right 
proportions  should  be.  A  painter  not  knowing  this  may 
succeed  because  he  may  be  able  to  copy  accurately  the 
proportions  of  objects  that  form  his  models.  But  the  archi- 
tect, barring  the  instances,  necessarily  limited,  in  which 
he  may  exactly  imitate  the  buildings  of  others,  must  design 
his  own  forms.  In  such  circumstances,  so  far  as  beauty 
depends  on  proportion,  if  ignorant  of  its  requirements, 
he  will  fail  as  certainly  as  a  musician  attempting  to  compose 
a  march,  without  knowing  how  to  produce  rhythm. — Idem, 

IX. 

PROPORTION    IN    ARCHITECTURE,    THE    RESULT    OF    EXPERI- 
MENTING. 

The  Parthenon  was  not  sketched  in  its  completed  form 
upon  paper,  and  then  let  out  to  some  contractor  to  be 
erected  in  so  many  months.  It  took,  as  some  say,  ten  years, 
and,  as  others  say,  sixteen  years  to  complete  it ;  and  most  of 
the  marble  in  it — each  column,  for  instance,  with  its  capital 
— is  said  to  have  been  shaped  after  being  lifted  to  its 
place.  We  know  that  some  of  the  Gothic  cathedrals  were 
almost  entirely  pulled  down  and  rebuilt,  because  their 
appearance  was  not  satisfactory.  Why  should  it  not  have 
been  the  same  with  the  Greek  temples?  In  the  age  in 
which  they  were  constructed  other  artists  believed — why 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  277 

should  not  the  architect? — that  a  man  should  study  upon 
a  product,  if  he  intended  to  have  it  remain  a  model  for 
all  the  future.  It  is  natural  to  suppose  that  the  structural 
arrangements  intended  to  counteract  optical  defects,  or  to 
produce  optical  illusions,  were  largely  the  results  of  the 
individual  experiments  of  individual  builders.  If  they 
were  not  so,  why  were  they  invariably  different  in  different 
buildings?  But  if  they  were  so,  and  if,  therefore,  it  be 
justifiable  to  compare  the  methods  of  arranging  the  out- 
lines of  these  buildings  to  the  methods  of  arranging  outlines 
according  to  the  laws  of  perspective  in  painting,  then  why  is 
not  the  general  principle  which  these  ancient  architects 
endeavored  to  fulfil  of  more  practical  importance  than  any 
particular  manner  in  which,  in  any  particular  case,  they 
fulfilled  it?  More  than  this,  why  might  not  the  architects 
of  our  own  time,  by  applying,  each  for  himself,  as  a  result 
of  his  individual  experiments,  the  same  general  principle, 
produce  approximately  successful  results?  But  these  they 
certainly  cannot  produce  (for  reasons  stated  on  page  26) 
until  they  get  out  of  their  heads  the  conception  that  the 
measurements  in  the  ancient  buildings  are  merely  represen- 
tative— in  some  mysterious  way  not  possible  to  fathom — 
of  ratios  related  to  one  another  as  are  those  of  pitch  in 
music.  As  applied  to  this  case,  at  least,  we  have  an  illustra- 
tion of  how  utterly  destructive  of  true  practice  in  art  is  a 
false  theory. — Idem,  xiv. 

PROPORTION  IN  ARTISTIC  PAINTING  OF  NATURAL  SCENERY. 

Natural  speech  is  not  always  rhythmical,  at  least  not  in 
that  higher  sense  in  which  it  is  also  metrical.  Yet  a  drama- 
tic poet,  in  his  artistic  representation  of  speech,  may  make  it 
so.  In  the  same  way,  why  may  not  a  painter  or  sculptor, 
whether  or  not  a  form  or  collection  of  forms  manifest  pro- 
portion in  nature,  make  it  do  so  in  his  artistic  treatment? 
The  main  requisite  of  proportion,  as  we  have  found,  is  to 
have  some  apparently  like  standard  of  measurement  into 
which  certain  parts  or  sets  of  parts  in  an  object  of  sight  are 
divided;  and  there  are  innumerable  methods,  not  involving 
any  lack  of  exactness  in  imitation,  through  which  this 
result  may  be  attained.  Take  a  mountain  scene.  A 
selection  of  one  point  of  view  only  a  hundred  feet  away 
from  another  may  entirely  change  the  suggestion  of  like 
divisions  afforded  by  the  lines  of  distant  and  nearer  ridges, 


278  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

of  snow  or  flora  of  different  characters,  or  of  the  borders 
of  lakes  or  rivers. — Idem,  vi. 

The  painting  accurately  represents  nature,  and  nature 
deprived  of  none  of  its  variety.  But  if  the  artistic  repre- 
sentation did  not  fulfil  the  requirements  of  proportion,  it 
might  be  no  more  entitled  to  be  considered  a  work  of  art 
than  would  be  a  poem,  if  devoid  of  rhythm. — Idem. 

PROPORTION  IN  HUMAN  FORMS,  AND  CLOTHING. 

To  speak  of  the  originator  of  styles  of  clothing,  it  is 
sometimes  supposed  that  these  latter  need  fulfil  no  aesthetic 
principles, — that  men  will  think  beautiful  any  style  to 
which  they  have  become  accustomed.  But  they  will  not 
think  it  beautiful — whatever  word  they  may  use  in  order  to 
express  their  thought  of  it;  at  best,  they  will  merely  think 
it  fitting,  because  it  is  conventional;  and  for  the  same 
reason,  too,  they  may  think  any  other  style  inappropriate. 
But  in  some  way,  which  possibly  they  cannot  explain, 
perhaps  not  even  recognize,  life  for  them  will  be  deprived 
of  certain  legitimate  aesthetic  influences,  the  presence  of 
which  might  enrich  their  experience.  This  statement 
applies  not  only  to  the  use  of  form  and  color,  but  also  of 
proportion.  How  easy  it  would  be  to  cause  the  cut  of 
the  garments  to  reveal  the  four,  five,  six,  or  eight  parts 
of  equal  lengths  into  which  the  height  of  the  well  propor- 
tioned body  is  divisible!  A  line  below  the  knee,  whether 
of  skirt  or  breeches;  a  line  at  the  middle,  whether  of  girdle 
or  waistcoat;  a  line  in  the  centre  of  the  breast,  whether 
of  bodice  or  vest,  together  with  other  lines,  always  divide 
the  figure  satisfactorily. — Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line 
and  Color,  vi. 

PROPORTION  IN  HUMAN  FORMS,  AS  DETERMINED  BY  REAL  OR 
IMAGINED  LINES. 

When  we  come  to  consider  the  human  body  it  might  be 
supposed  that  the  influence  of  such  lines  as  are  drawn 
through  it  or  through  parts  of  it,  might  not  be  felt  because 
they  are  not  actually  present.  Nevertheless,  because 
they  are  ideally  present,  they  have  some  influence.  If, 
for  instance,  a  person  be  facing  us,  it  is  almost  impossible 
not  to  suppose  an  imaginary  vertical  straight  line  drawn 
from  the  middle  of  his  forehead  to  the  middle  of  his  chin, 
and  if  we  find  this  line  passing  through  the  middle  of  his 
nose,  we  obtain  an  impression  of  regularity  which,  so  far  as 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  279 

concerns  it  alone,  is  an  aid  to  the  agreeableness  and  conse- 
quent beauty  of  the  effect;  but  in  the  degree  in  which  the 
middle  of  the  nose  is  out  of  this  vertical  line,  not  only- 
irregularity  but  ugliness  is  suggested.  A  similar  tendency  of 
thought  causes  us  to  suppose  other  imaginary  vertical 
straight  lines,  drawn,  at  equal  distances  from  this  central 
line;  and  from  them  we  may  gain  an  impression  of  relative 
regularity  by  noticing  to  what  extent  the  lines  pass  through 
corresponding  sides  of  the  face.  Besides  this,  we  are 
prompted  to  suppose  horizontal  lines  drawn,  across  the 
forehead,  eyes,  and  mouth;  and  from  these  lines,  too,  we 
form  judgments  with  reference  to  the  degrees  of  regularity. 
If  the  hair  be  farther  down  on  one  side  of  the  forehead  than 
on  the  other,  or  if  the  arch  of  the  eyebrows  be  not  sym- 
metrically rounded,  or  if  the  sides  of  the  mouth  incline  down- 
ward or  upward,  or  a  lip  be  larger  on  one  side  than  on  the 
other,  we  notice  the  fact.  Of  course  we  do  this,  only  so 
far  as  we  compare  the  result  with  that  of  an  imaginary 
straight  line  drawn  through  the  feature.  The  same  is 
true,  too,  with  reference  to  lines  dividing  other  parts  of  the 
body.  If  one  part  of  an  eye  or  ear  or  if  a  neck,  or  hand,  or 
trunk,  or  leg,  be,  relatively  to  other  features  of  the  frame, 
too  long,  or  too  short,  we  perceive  the  defect  almost  immedi- 
ately; but  we  can  only  do  it  as  a  result  of  ideally  drawing 
such  lines  and  measuring  and  comparing  the  distances 
between  them.  In  the  same  way,  the  similarity  in  curva- 
ture suggested  by  the  outer  lines  of  calves,  thighs,  and 
shoulders,  prompts  us  to  imagine  similar  curves  drawn; 
and  in  case  there  be  any  deviation  in  outline  from  confor- 
mity to  a  segment  of  one  of  these  curves,  the  eye  will  ob- 
serve the  fact;  and  the  parts  of  the  contours  about  which 
they  are  described  will  not  seem  to  be  constructed  on  the 
same  lines,  as  we  say,  and,  therefore,  will  not  seem  to  be  in 
proportion.  So  much  as  to  the  general  principles  in  ac- 
cordance with  which  such  lines  are  made  the  basis  of 
aesthetic  judgments,  either  because  they  are  actually 
delineated  or  are  merely  imagined. — Idem,  vii. 

For  instance,  take  the  outlining  conditions  of  pictures 
produced  upon  stained  glass,  especially  in  windows.  Such 
windows  are  always  constructed  on  a  network  of  bars  which 
cannot  be  hidden;  and  these  necessitate  dividing  whatever 
is  represented  on  the  glass  into  certain  parts.     Why  has  it 


280  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER '5  CABINET 

never  occurred  to  artists  to  have  these  bars  divide  human 
forms,  when  crossing  them,  into  parts  of  Hke  longitudinal 
dimensions?  Straight  lines,  cannot  give  us,  perhaps,  the 
most  important  indication  of  the  measurements  determin- 
ing the  proportions  of  the  human  form.  But  such  lines 
can  give  us  some  indication,  and,  so  far  as  they  do  this,  the 
artist,  alive  to  his  opportunities,  will  utilize  them,  it  being 
an  elementary  principle  in  art  that  its  necessary  limitations 
should  be  made  to  add  to  its  effectiveness. — Idem,  vi. 

PROPORTION  IN  HUMAN  FORMS  INDICATED  BY  LIKE  CURVES. 

Figures  of  various  outlines  can  be  made  to  seem  to  be  in 
proportion,  when  they  are,  or  can  be,  framed  not  only  in 
like  rectangles,  but  in  any  like  figures  whatever.  The 
rectangle  is  used  as  an  actual  or  ideal  standard  of  compari- 
son merely  as  a  matter  of  convenience.  It  is  comparatively 
easy  to  recognize  whether  or  not  straight  lines,  such  as 
rectangles  have,  are  of  the  same  lengths,  or  are  the  same 
distances  apart,  or  have,  in  other  regards,  other  measure- 
ments that  are  in  proportion.  It  would  be  a  mistake, 
however,  to  suppose  that  the  standard  of  measurement  is, 
or,  in  all  cases,  can  be  rectangular.  Take  the  human 
form.  It  is  ordinarily  divided  into  equal  parts  by  hori- 
zontal lines,  and  these  lines  are  undoubtedly  an  aid  in 
determining  the  proportions.  But,  as  will  be  shown  on 
page  68,  effective  aid  may  be  afforded  by  circles  also.  .  .  . 
There  is  a  reason  for  the  use  of  these  circles  as  a  standard 
of  measurement  derived  from  the  physiological  require- 
ments of  the  eye,  especially  in  binocular  vision.  This 
reason  will  be  found  unfolded  in  Chapter  XVI.  Here  it 
is  sufficient  to  say  .  .  .  that  when  all  the  circumferences  of 
the  circles  described  about  the  same  figure  are  the  same,  the 
eyes  are  supposed  to  be  focussed  for  distinct  vision  at  exactly 
the  same  distance.  At  a  certain  distance  from  the  form,  for 
instance,  all  the  circles  are  of  one  size,  but  nearer  than  this 
all  of  them  are  of  another  size.  .  .  . 

A  very  interesting  illustration  of  the  aid  afforded  by.  .  . 
the  perception  of  the  fact  that  like  is  put  with  like,  may 
be  observed  in  .  .  .  the  curve  which  Ruskin,  in  his  **  Mod- 
ern Painters,"  declares  to  be  the  most  common  in  nature. 
The  curve  is  one  so  described  as  to  show  a  constant 
tendency  to  become  straight,  although  never  becoming 
straight.  .  .  . 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  281 

.  .  .  Any  one  who  will  go  over  any  representations  of  the 
human  figure  with  compasses  will  be  surprised  to  find  how 
large  a  part  of  a  segment  of  exactly  the  same  curve  fits 
either  the  bend  of  the  calf,  forearm,  thigh,  abdomen,  chest, 
or  back.  If  then  his  experience — say  at  a  bathing-place — 
causes  him  to  recall  the  aesthetic  influences  of  such  forma- 
tions as  a  long  arm  or  leg  combined  with  great  leanness,  or 
a  small  chest  combined  with  an  abnormally  large  abdomen, 
he  will  find  upon  reflection  that  the  effects  of  disproportion, 
while  attributable  partly  to  association,  are  also  attributable 
partly  to  a  recognition  of  an  absence  of  like  curves.  Or,  to 
illustrate  this  fact  from  a  contrary  condition,  everybody  ad- 
mires a  small  ankle  and  a  good-sized  calf.  Yet  the  moment 
the  calf  becomes  so  large  proportionately  as  to  interfere 
with  the  suggestions  of  a  like  curve  in  this,  and  in  the  out- 
lines of  the  hip,  almost  everybody  is  conscious  of  receiving 
a  suggestion  of  disproportion. — Idem,  v. 

PROPORTION  VS,  PERSPECTIVE  {seC  also  GENERAL  AND  DISTANT 
VS.  SPECIFIC  AND  NEAR  EFFECTS,  and  PERSPECTIVE). 

As  indicated  in  either  opinion  or  production,  the  artistic 
intelligence  of  our  own  time  has,  as  yet,  scarcely  an  appre- 
hension, and  no  comprehension  whatever,  of  that  which 
is  acknowledged  to  have  formed  the  chief  visual  excellence 
of  Greek  art.  The  author  is  convinced  that  this  fact  is 
owing  almost  wholly  to  a  misunderstanding  of  the  aims  of 
proportion,  together  with  a  confounding  of  it  with  perspec- 
tive.— Idem,  Preface. 

It  will  be  recognized  that  the  supposition  that  all  these 
buildings  were  constructed  with  primary  reference  to  pro- 
ducing a  certain  apparent  effect  when  viev/ed  from  some 
point  or  points  at  a  distance,  is  the  only  one  that  can  furnish 
the  same  reason,  and  a  sufficient  one,  for  all  the  different 
methods  of  producing  these  effects, — methods  as  different, 
for  instance,  as  that  in  the  forward  curve  of  the  entabla- 
ture and  as  in  the  upward  curve  of  the  entablature  or  of  the 
stylobate.  Moreover,  such  a  supposition  is  the  only  one 
that  can  give  the  same  reason,  and  a  sufficient  one,  for  the 
application  of  the  same  method  in  order  to  produce  the 
same  effects,  yet  with  almost  infinite  differences  in  measure- 
ments, in  different  temples.  Here  are  some  of  these  meas- 
urements .  .  .  they  probably  have  nothing  to  do  with 
proportion,  per  se,  but  merely  with  producing  the  appear- 


282  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER* S  CABINET 

ances  to  which,  after  being  made  to  appear  as  they  do,  the 
principles  of  proportion  apply.  The  best  clue  to  the 
interpretation  of  these  irregularities  seems  to  be  afforded 
by  the  methods  of  introducing  perspective  into  painting. 
It  is  not  considered  necessary  in  this  latter  art  to  apply 
the  laws  of  perspective  with  mathematical  exactness. 
Each  draftsman,  in  arranging  his  outlines,  feels  at  liberty  to 
stand  off  from  his  drawing,  and,  as  a  result  of  repeated 
examinations  and  experiments,  to  use  his  own  ingenuity. 
Indeed,  even  if  these  laws  were  applied  with  mathematical 
exactness,  the  required  measurements  would  differ  with 
every  foot  by  which  a  man  stood  nearer  to  his  product,  or 
farther  from  it.  Precisely  so  in  architecture  ...  as 
Vitruvius  says,  very  unequivocally,  in  book  iii.,  chapter  iii., 
*'To  preserve  a  sensible  proportion  of  parts,  if  in  high 
situations  or  of  colossal  dimensions,  we  must  modify  them 
accordingly,  so  that  they  may  appear  of  the  size  intended." 
— Idem,  XIV. 

Every  painter  knows  that  colors  and  shadows  as  examined 
close  at  hand  in  the  external  world  often  differ  greatly  from 
what  they  appear  to  be  to  one  who  judges  of  them  by  the 
image  on  the  retina.  To  him  an  actually  checkered  surface 
may  appear  to  be  of  a  single  color,  and  a  color,  owing  to  the 
influence  of  surrounding  hues,  may  appear  unlike  that  which 
it  actually  is.  The  same  fact  is  true  with  reference  to  out- 
lines. The  eye  is  rounded  and  therefore  the  mind  behind  it 
sees  everything  through  a  rounded  surface.  If  one  look  into 
a  convex  mirror  he  will  find  all  of  the  dimensions  of  the 
natural  world  slightly  altered.  As  a  rule,  for  instance, 
the  straight  upward  lines  of  a  square  object  with  its  base 
on  the  middle  line  of  the  mirror  will  appear  not  to  be 
parallel  but  to  approach  one  another.  The  effects  in  the 
mirror  merely  exaggerate  the  effects  already  exerted  upon 
nature  by  the  rounded  formation  of  the  eye.  As  applied 
to  natural  surroundings,  we  become  accustomed  to  these 
effects  and  never  judge  lines  to  be  curved  or  lacking  in 
parallelism  merely  because  they  are  so  in  the  image  on 
the  retina.  On  the  contrary,  unless  they  were  so  in  this 
image,  we  should  judge  the  lines  to  be  neither  straight  nor 
parallel.  Accordingly,  when  men  try,  as  in  drawing  a 
picture,  to  reproduce  the  appearance  of  such  an  image,  it 
becomes  important  for  them  to  carry  out  what  are  termed 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  283 

the  laws  of  linear  perspective.  These  are  laws,  as  will  be 
explained  in  Chapter  XIV.,  in  accordance  with  which  all 
the  outlines  of  an  artificial  image,  whether  drawn,  painted, 
carved,  or  constructed,  or  however  changed  in  size,  are 
made  among  other  things  to  sustain  somewhat  the  same 
relations  as  in  an  image  naturally  produced  on  the  retina. 
Notice,  moreover,  that  to  fulfil  these  laws  of  perspective 
so  as  to  make  this  artificial  image  correspond  to  the  image 
in  the  eye  is  one  thing;  and  that  to  make  the  respective 
dimensions  of  this  image  appear  to  fulfil,  each  to  each, 
the  laws  of  proportion  is  another  thing.  Yet  it  is  quite 
easy  and  natural  to  confound  the  two.  We  need  not  be 
surprised,  therefore,  to  find  them  almost  invariably  con- 
founded in  theories  of  proportion,  especially  in  those 
which  have  had  most  influence  in  causing  men  to  think 
that  the  subject  is  too  complex  and  mysterious  for  solu- 
tion. Those  who  have  advanced  these  theories  have 
failed  to  recognize  that  the  analogue  of  proportion  is  not 
harmony  but  rhythm.  Moreover,  as  rhythm  is  an  effect 
of  the  conscious  action  of  the  mind,  its  general  principles 
are  comparatively  easy  to  ascertain;  and,  by  carrying  out 
the  analogies  suggested  by  them,  the  explanation  of  the 
effects  of  proportion  may  be  rendered  comparatively 
easy.  But  the  processes  through  which  the  ear  becomes 
cognizant  of  the  harmonic  relations  between  musical  notes 
and  chords  are  difficult  to  ascertain,  for  the  very  reason 
that  the  mind  is  not  conscious  of  these  processes.  No 
wonder,  therefore,  that  a  theory  identifying  with  them 
those  of  proportion  by  which  the  mind,  through  the  eye, 
becomes  cognizant  of  the  relations  existing  between  spaces, 
should  involve  difficulties. — Idem,  iii. 

QUALITY  {see    REPRESENTATIVE  EFFECTS  OF  COLORS,  and 
REPRESENTATIVE  EFFECTS  OF  TONES). 

RANK  OF  A  WORK  OF  ART. 

The  rank  of  a  work  of  art  is  determined  not  only  by  its 
aim,  but  by  the  degree  in  which  it  attains  this  aim,  whatever 
it  may  be ;  and  the  higher  the  aim,  the  more  difficult  often 
is  it  to  reach.  But  just  as  a  drama,  if  successful,  is  greater 
than  a  ballad,  so  a  painting  in  which  the  representation  of 
thought  and  emotion  is  directly  necessitated,  is  greater 
than  one  in  which  this  is  not  the  case. — Painting,  Sculpture, 
and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,  xiv. 


284  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

READING,    TO  ACQUIRE    LITERARY   STYLE. 

Most  of  us  know  that  a  good  literary  style  is  cultivated 
by  acquaintance  with  good  literature  even  more  than  by 
studying  rhetoric,  in  however  excellent  a  manual;  and  we 
know,  too,  that  no  small  part  of  the  beneficial  influence  of 
this  literature,  whether  oratory  or  poetry,  is  derived  from 
testing  how  it  sounds,  which  involves  getting  the  benefit 
of  its  distinctively  elocutionary  effects. — Essay  on  The 
Principles  of  Writing  and  Speaking  the  Same. 

REALISTIC  ART  {see  EPIC,  etc.). 
REFLECTIVE  AND  INSTINCTIVE  MENTAL  ACTION  IN  ART- WORK. 

By  instinctive  mental  processes  are  meant  those  which 
are  conducted  according  to  unconscious  methods,  and  are 
analogous,  for  this  reason,  to  the  results  of  the  promptings 
of  instinct  in  the  lower  animals.  It  is  in  this  instinctive  way 
that  the  child  utters  ejaculations,  to  which,  as  shown  on 
page  4,  certain  of  our  words  owe  their  origin,  and  it  is  in  the 
same  way  that  melodies  and  verses  are  sometimes  composed, 
singing  themselves  into  existence,  the  musician  or  poet 
hardly  knowing  how  or  whence  they  come.  In  the  same  way, 
too,  children  and  the  uncultivated  gesture,  and  even  draw 
and  carve  and  build,  the  action  of  mind  in  the  elementary 
processes  of  these  arts  not  being  essentially  different  from 
that  in  which  the  bees  or  birds  or  beasts  construct  their 
honeycombs  or  nests  or  dens.  But  poetry  and  music  deal 
also  with  words,  notes,  and  phrases,  originated  with  a  clear 
reflective  consciousness  of  surrounding  phenomena  with 
which,  by  way  of  imitation  or  description,  the  sounds  used 
in  the  arts  are  made  to  compare.  It  is  the  same  in  the  arts 
of  sight.  What  is  there  constructed  by  an  animal  showing 
thought  and  discrimination, — and,  in  this  sense,  reflection 
with  reference  to  surrounding  appearances — of  the  same 
quality  as  that  which  characterizes  the  forms  used  in 
painting,  sculpture,  and  architecture?  It  is  owing,  more 
than  to  anything  else,  to  this  reflective  action  of  the  mind, 
working  according  to  the  calculating  methods  of  reason 
that,  even  though  general  conceptions  of  paintings,  statues, 
or  buildings  may  result  from  sudden  and  instinctive  inspi- 
rations, all  of  them,  if  works  of  art,  are,  as  a  rule,  produced 
slowly,  and  with  a  clear  conception  of  the  reason  for  the 
introduction  of  each  detail. — Painting,  Sculpture,  and 
Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,  i. 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  285 

REFLECTIVE   AS   WELL   AS    INSTINCTIVE    MENTAL   ACTION   IN 
ART  WORK. 

Of  course,  all  nature  has  some  effect  upon  the  mind, 
whether  or  not  one  is  distinctly  conscious  of  the  fact.  It  is 
conceivable,  therefore,  that  a  picture  composed  with  no 
higher  purpose  than  that  of  exact  imitation  might  prove — 
just  as  would  the  natural  scene  which  it  imitates — exceed- 
ingly significant.  Many  a  man  who  desires  to  do  no  more 
than  tell  a  good  story  in  a  tale  or  a  ballad  does  this  so 
graphically  that  it  is  as  full  of  imaginative  suggestiveness 
as  if  he  had  intended  to  make  it  so.  The  same  result  follows 
in  landscape  painting.  The  art  of  a  product  must  be  judged 
by  the  effect  which  it  produces,  not  by  the  method  of 
producing  this.  If  a  painter  happen  to  select  a  suggestive 
scene,  his  imitation  of  it  may  be  equally  suggestive.  But 
it  is  simply  a  fact,  and  one  that  needs  always  to  be  borne 
in  mind,  that  notwithstanding  some  exceptional  successes  of 
this  kind,  no  story-teller  or  painter  can,  as  a  rule,  produce  a 
series  of  successful  products  except  as  a  result  of  an  intelligent 
adaptation  of  artistic  means  to  artistic  ends. — Idem,  xiv. 

REGULARITY  IN  ART  {see  also  IRREGULARITY). 

The  two  sides  of  even  a  very  symmetrical  tree  do  not 
exactly  correspond,  and  a  tree  depicted  in  art  is  most  apt  to 
have  the  appearance  of  life,  if  the  same  be  true  of  it.  The 
two  sides  of  a  man's  body  are  more  nearly  alike  than  those 
of  a  tree;  but  in  the  degree  in  which  he  possesses  life  and 
consequent  grace,  they  will,  while  suggesting  likeness,  be 
made  unlike  by  the  positions  which  he  assumes. — The 
Genesis  of  Art- Fornix  xi 

A  picture  in  which  paths  or  trees  or  bridges  are  arranged 
in  uninterrupted  rows  as  geometrically  regular  as  the 
threads  of  a  spider's  web,  seems  to  be  in  the  highest  degree 
unnatural.  Even  though  a  literal  copy  of  some  park  in 
actual  existence,  we  feel  like  blaming  the  artist  for  not 
choosing  to  copy  a  scene  giving  more  evidences  of  nature 
as  God  left  it.  In  this,  we  should  usually  find  places  where 
lawns,  bushes,  forests,  rivers,  hills,  or  other  paths,  trees,  or 
hedges  crossed  or  stopped  the  straight  lines,  or  made  them 
bend  away  in  other  directions. — Idem,  xiv. 

REGULARITY    IN    ART,  WHAT    IT    MEANS    (see    olsO    BEAUTY 
HUMAN,    and    PROPORTION    IN    HUMAN    FORMS). 

In  the  arts  of  sight,  regularity  is  a  result,  primarily,  of 


286  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

like  effects  produced  by  measurements,  just  as  in  poetry 
and  music  it  is  a  result  of  like  effects  produced  by  meas- 
ures. As  outlines  surround  both  spaces  and  shapes,  these 
like  effects  may  be  produced  by  resemblances  either  in  the 
one  or  in  the  other.  For  instance,  if,  in  a  door,  a  square  panel 
alternate  with  a  circular  one,  and  the  opposite  sides  of  the 
square  be  the  same  distance  apart  as  those  of  the  circle,  i.e., 
if  the  diameters  of  both  figures  have  the  same  measurements, 
then  men  consider  this  arrangement  an  illustration  of  regu- 
larity, though  the  likeness  is  in  the  spaces  occupied  not  in 
the  shapes  occupying  them;  or  if  in  a  human  face  there  be 
the  same  distance  or  measurement  between  the  hair  of  the 
forehead  and  the  eyes,  and  between  the  eyes  and  the  nostrils, 
and  between  the  nostrils  and  the  chin,  men  say  that  the 
features,  so  far  as  this  fact  can  make  them  so,  are  regular, 
though  there  is  likeness  only  in  spaces  not  in  shapes.  But 
the  term  is  applied  sometimes  to  shapes  alone.  When 
each  part  of  a  curve  or  angle,  as  in  an  arch  over  a  window, 
bears  the  same  relations  to  the  whole,  that  each  part  of 
another  curve  or  angle  bears  to  another  whole,  which 
nevertheless  occupies  less  space ;  or  when  one  part  of  a  curve 
or  an  angle  is  like  another  part  of  the  same  curve  or  angle, 
as  is  sometimes  the  case  with  the  curve  over  the  eyebrows ; 
or  is  related  in  the  same  way  to  some  third  feature,  as  the 
eyebrows  are  to  the  nose, — ^in  these  cases,  too,  because  the 
mere  shapes  are  alike,  there  is  said  to  be  regularity. — 
Paintingy  Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts, 

VI. 

REGULARITY  IN  NATURE  AND  ART 

The  impression  that  we  most  instinctively  form  of 
nature,  so  far  as  man  has  not  touched  it,  is  that  of  irregu- 
larity. As  a  rule,  this  and  nothing  else  is  what  mountains, 
valleys,  rocks,  lakes,  whether  we  consider  their  outlines 
or  arrangements,  seem  to  us  to  illustrate.  For  this  reason, 
in  a  thoroughly  successful  painting  of  nature,  the  contours 
of  hills,  dales,  rivers,  foliage,  and  the  forms  of  animals  and 
men  are  never  arranged  along  the  lines  of  a  framework  with 
a  too  inflexible  regard  for  such  characteristics  as  radiation, 
parallelism,  or  balance';  or,  if  they  be,  these  methods  are 
concealed  so  as  not  to  be  recognizable  without  study. 
Otherwise,   the  result  would  seem  not  even  artistically 

^  See  page  89  of  this  volume. 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  287 

natural  but  unnatural  and  artificial,  regularity  of  outline 
being  almost  invariably  an  indication  of  the  effects  upon 
natural  appearances  of  the  reflective  characteristics  of  man. 
This  can  be  exemplified  equally  from  landscape  gardening 
and  landscape  painting.  An  artist,  especially  one  of  an 
early  historic  period,  is  almost  as  likely  to  arrange  bushes 
and  trees  in  symmetrical  groups,  if  not  rows,  in  the  latter 
art  as  in  the  former,  provided  he  can  find  or  imagine  a  view- 
point from  which  this  can  be  done;  and,  when  depicting 
living  beings  capable  of  being  moved  about,  he  is  sure  to 
arrange  them  thus.  Even  in  most  imitative  paintings,  he 
sometimes  changes  the  outlines  of  hills  and  valleys,  or,  if 
he  cannot  do  this,  he  introduces  regularity  through  the  use 
of  color.  When  it  comes  to  architecture,  where  he  is  left 
free  to  design  the  whole  appearance,  regularity  is  usually 
the  main  characteristic. — Idem,  vi. 

RELIGION  AIDED  BY  ART  {see  ARTISTS  VS.  SEERS). 

It  would  be  a  mistake  to  suppose,  however,  that  art, 
because  different  from  religion,  is  antagonistic  to  it.  The 
truth  is  just  the  contrary.  It  can  be  said,  almost  without 
qualification,  that  in  all  times  of  extreme  traditionalism 
and  unenlightenment  art  has  proved  the  only  agency  that, 
without  offending  ignorance  and  superstition,  has  been 
able  to  counterbalance  their  influence.  It  has  done  this 
by  using  the  forms  of  nature,  and  contenting  itself  with  the 
truth  as  represented  in  them.  Guised  in  familar  aspects, 
appealing  to  the  mind  by  way  of  suggestion  which  leaves 
the  imagination  free  to  surmise  or  to  deduce  whatever 
inference  may  appeal  to  it,  the  thoughts  expressed  in  art  do 
not,  as  a  rule,  repel  even  the  most  prejudiced,  or  excite  their 
opposition.  A  man  in  Italy,  in  the  thirteenth  century, 
would  have  been  sent  to  the  stake  if  he  had  made  a  plain 
statement  to  the  effect  that  a  pope  could  be  kept  in  hell,  or  a 
pagan  admitted  to  paradise.  Yet  when  Dante  pictured 
both  conditions  in  his  great  poem,  how  few  questioned  his 
orthodoxy!  So  with  the  themes  of  painting  and  of  sculp- 
ture. What  a  rebuke  to  the  bigotry  and  the  cruelty  of  the 
Middle  Ages  were  the  countless  products  of  the  arts  of  those 
periods,  pleading  constantly  to  the  eye  against  the  savage 
customs  of  the  times  for  the  sweet  but  little-practised  virtues 
of  justice  and  charity !  Within  our  own  century,  too,  not- 
withstanding the  traditions  of  society,  the  State  and  the 


388  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

Church,  which  have  often  exerted  all  their  powers  to~up- 
hold  and  perpetuate  slavery,  aristocracy,  and  sectarianism, 
recall  how  the  modern  novel  chiefly,  but  assisted  largely 
by  the  modern  picture,  has  not  only  changed  the  whole 
trend  of  the  world's  thought  with  reference  to  these  sys- 
tems, but  has  contributed,  more,  perhaps,  than  any  other 
single  cause,  to  the  practical  reorganization  of  them,  in 
accordance  with  the  dictates  of  enlightened  intelligence. 
Notice,  too,  that  this  influence  of  art  extends  to  the  whole 
region  covered  by  religion,  whether  pertaining  to  this 
world  or  to  the  next.  In  ages  like  our  own,  when  men 
rely  chiefly  upon  the  guidance  of  the  conscious  mind,  it  is 
extremely  difficult  for  them  to  be  brought  to  realize  that 
there  is  any  trustworthy  guidance  attributable  to  the  action 
of  the  subconscious  mind.  Art  does  not  discuss  this 
guidance,  but  presupposes  it.  Through  the  results  of  the 
subconscious  mind  coalescing  with  those  of  the  conscious 
mind  it  everywhere  surrounds  the  material  with  the  halo 
of  the  spiritual,  causing  those  who  will  not  even  acknowl- 
edge the  existence  of  the  latter,  to  enter  upon  a  practical 
experience  of  it  in  ideas,  and  to  accept,  when  appearing 
in  the  guise  of  imagination,  what  they  would  reject  if 
presented  in  its  own  lineaments.  So  the  artist,  though  not 
a  seer,  always  has  within  him  the  possibility  of  being  the 
seer's  assistant. — Essentials  of  jEstheticSj  iii. 

Probably  no  art-product  has  ever  continued  to  influence 
ages  succeeding  its  own,  except  in  the  degree  in  which  it 
has  shown  itself  to  be  the  work  of  a  man  deeply  interested, 
as  a  matter  of  sentiment  at  least,  in  religious,  moral,  social,  or 
intellectual  problems,  and  in  their  effects  upon  humanity. 
The  oldest  music  that  we  have  is  all  of  it  religious.  So, 
when  it  is  not  merely  ethical,  is  the  oldest  poetry.  This  is 
true  not  only  of  that  which  is  in  the  Bible,  and  the  Vedas  of 
India,  but  in  the  Iliad,  the  ^Eneid,  and  in  all  the  greatest 
tragedies  of  the  Greeks.  So  is  much  of  the  best  of  modern 
poetry  also, — that  of  Dante,  Racine,  Spenser,  Milton, 
Wordsworth,  Schiller,  and  Shakespeare.  Very  nearly  as 
large  a  proportion  of  quotations  having  to  do  with  the  right 
conduct  of  life  can  be  taken  from  this  last  poet  as  from 
the  Bible  itself.  Nor  are  they  brought  into  his  plays  in- 
cidentally, though  they  are  brought  in  artistically,  i.  e., 
in  such  ways  as  to  aid  in  the  representation  of  the  characters 


Doorway  of  a  Church  in  Jak,  Hungary 
See  pages  24,  25,  82-85,  I47>  148,  162,  268,  385 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  289 

depicted.  Yet  even  to  aid  in  this,  they  are  often  so  un- 
necessary as  to  prove  that  their  author  is  intentionally 
availing  himself  of  an  opportunity  to  introduce  thought  of  a 
distinctly  religious  or  moral  tendency. — The  Representative 
Significance  of  Fornix  xv. 

When  an  artist  depicts  nature  just  as  it  is,  if  there  be  any 
such  thing  as  natural  religion,  he  produces  upon  the  mind 
something  of  the  effect  of  natural  religion.  If  he  depict 
humanity,  he  produces — if  there  be  any  such  thing — some- 
thing of  the  sympathetic  effect  of  social  religion.  And  in 
both  cases  he  adds  to  the  effect  the  influence  which  each  has 
had  upon  his  own  character,  and  produces,  if  he  have  any, 
something  of  the  effect  of  personal  religion.  Art  combines 
the  influences  of  God  in  nature,  God  in  humanity,  and 
God  in  the  individual.  It  makes  an  appeal  that  is  natural, 
sympathetic,  and  personal;  but  it  does  all  this  in  a  way 
that  seems  divine,  because  the  factors  of  representation 
are  reproductions  of  the  divine  handiwork. — Essay  on  Art 
and  Education. 

In  the  old,  and  by  no  means  beautiful  chapel  at  Prince- 
ton, the  faculty  were  never  able  to  repress  entirely  certain 
irreverent  forms  of  disturbance, — like  keeping  step  with  a 
Freshman  when  he  walked  to  his  seat.  When  the  time 
came  to  move  into  the  new  Marquand  Chapel,  some  one 
suggested,  in  a  meeting  of  the  faculty,  that  the  students  be 
particularly  requested  and  warned  not  to  continue  these 
practices.  After  discussion,  however,  it  was  decided  to 
postpone  action  until  something  had  been  done  to  necessi- 
tate it.  Nothing  ever  did  necessitate  it.  Every  tendency 
to  disorder  was,  apparently,  completely  suppressed  by  a 
mere  change  to  a  more  aesthetic  environment. — Essay  on 
Art  and  Morals:  Note. 

Under  the  pediment  of  the  temple,  the  arches  of  the 
cathedral,  the  dome  of  the  mosque,  always,  too,  in  the 
degree  in  which  these  are  great  works  of  art,  the  predomi- 
nating impression  is  that  of  the  universal  fatherhood  of 
God,  which  all  alike  represent. — Essay  on  Art  and  Education. 

The  student  of  art  cannot  keep  from  learning  through 
personal  experience  how  months  and  years  of  exercise  in 
voice  and  gesture,  in  playing  music,  in  drawing,  in  painting, 
in  carving,  give  one  a  mastery  over  the  physical  possibilities 
of  the  body  not  only,  but  of  the  mind.     He  is  forced  to 

Z9 


290  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

realize  as  others  cannot  that  there  comes  to  be  a  time  when 
every  sHghtest  movement  through  which  music,  for 
instance,  passes  with  the  rapidity  of  electricity  from  a 
printed  score  through  the  mind  and  fingers  of  a  performer, 
is  overseen  and  directed  by  mental  action  which,  while 
intelligent,  works  unconsciously,  all  the  conscious  powers 
of  the  mind  being  absorbed  in  that  which  is  producing  the 
general  expressional  effect.  The  student  of  art  has  thus 
before  him  constant  experimental  evidence  of  the  way  in 
which  the  higher  mental  nature  can  gain  ascendency  over 
both  the  lower  physical  and  the  lower  psychical  nature. 
He  knows  practically  as  well  as  theoretically  in  what  sense  it 
can  be  true  spiritually  that  the  man  who  is  to  enter  into  the 
kingdom  of  heaven,  who  is  to  become  with  all  his  powers 
subject  to  the  spirit  that  is  sovereign  there,  and  who  is, 
without  conscious  effort,  to  embody  in  conduct  its  slightest 
promptings,  is  the  man  who  consciously  starts  out  with 
scrupulous  and  often  painful  efforts  to  do  the  will  of  the 
Father  who  is  in  heaven. — Idem. 

RELIGION  AN  AID  TO  ART. 

But  a  man  would  mistake  if  for  these  reasons  he  were 
to  suppose  that  art  can  be  an  entire  substitute  for  religion. 
It  can  no  more  be  this  in  that  which  has  to  do  with  inspira- 
tion than  it  can  be  a  substitute  for  science  in  that  which 
has  to  do  with  investigation.  In  an  age  in  which  there  is 
little  scientific  accuracy,  there  is  little  artistic  accuracy ;  and 
in  an  age  in  which  there  is  little  religious  inspiration  there 
is  little  artistic.  The  subconscious  mind  works  in  accord- 
ance with  suggestion.  The  stimulus  of  religious  suggestion 
is  needed  by  art  in  order  to  attain  the  loftiest  heights  of 
imaginative  effort.  Of  course  this  suggestion  can  be 
experienced  in  the  degree  only  in  which  there  is  a  certain 
practical  belief  in  the  relation  of  subconscious  to  conscious 
mental  action,  even  if  there  be  not  a  clear  theoretical 
understanding  of  it. — The  Representative  Significance  of 
Forniy  VII. 

RELIGION  AND  SCIENCE  AIDS  TO  ART. 

It  would  be  difficult,  in  fact,  to  discover  a  single  element 
necessary  to  success  in  religious  or  scientific  endeavor 
which,  if  held  in  due  subordination,  is  really  not  available 
in  the  realm  of  aft.  Religion  is  an  aid  to  it  because,  to 
interpret  the  truth  of  nature  in  all  its  depth  and  breadth 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  291 

of  pureness  and  of  charity,  one  must  have  a  spirit  capable 
of  being  often  drawn  into  sympathy  with  that  which  is 
purest  and  best  in  nature.  .  .  .  And  science,  too,  is  an  aid 
to  art ;  and  in  the  same  category  with  science  we  must  place 
all  those  phases  of  life  which  are  appropriate  subjects  of 
investigation,  everything  that  can  enlighten  man  with 
reference  to  the  laws  of  nature  or  of  mind,  or  to  the  histories 
of  either. — Idem,  xiii. 

RELIGION  VS,  ART  {sce  ARTISTS  VS.  SEERS). 

Religion  unfolds  like  a  plant  from  within.  Its  germs  are 
of  a  kind  hidden  in  nature,  in  the  animal  and  in  man,  and 
when  it  reaches  the  thoughts,  words,  and  deeds  over  which 
the  mind  exercises  conscious  control,  it  influences  these  in 
a  manner  peculiar  to  a  tendency  of  instinct,  a  prompting 
of  conscience,  a  motive  to  action.  Of  course  a  tendency, 
a  prompting,  a  motive,  cannot  be  expressed  outwardly 
except  as  a  man  uses  something  like  bodily  speech  or  action 
that  can  be  heard  or  seen.  Like  art,  religion,  therefore, 
is  obliged  in  all  forms  of  expression  to  exert  more  or  less 
of  a  material  influence  upon  the  material  body  and  its 
material  surroundings.  But  in  religion  the  essential  matter 
is  that  these  material  forms  of  expression  should  always 
be  subordinate  to  the  promptings  of  the  higher  spiritual 
nature.  ...  In  art  the  conditions  are  different.  It  in- 
volves no  necessary  subordination  of  the  outward  to  the 
inward.  There  is  always  a  cooperation  between  the 
two,  in  which  sometimes  the  one  seems  the  more  prominent 
and  sometimes  the  other,  but  in  no  case  does  the  mind 
fail  to  recognize  the  demands  of  its  material  surroundings. , 
or  to  aim  at  conformity  to  these.  It  is  the  essential  condi- 
tion of  art  that  it  should  manifest  this  conformity:  that 
it  should  produce  a  dramatic  imitation,  a  melody,  a  meta- 
phor, a  picture,  a  statue,  a  building,  whatever  it  may  be, 
which  in  some  way  emphasizes  the  influence  of  these  sur- 
roundings. Even  as  appHed  to  ordinary  action,  a  man 
who  can  be  specially  commended  for  the  art  which  he 
manifests  in  conversation  or  in  conduct  is  not  the  one 
who  would  most  naturally  be  selected  as  an  exemplification 
of  that  faith  which  underlies  the  disregard  of  material 
conditions  involved  often  in  speaking  the  truth,  and  always 
in  marching  to  martyrdom. — Idem,  ix. 

Religious  effects  are  seldom  produced  by  what  are  recog- 


293  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

nized  clearly  to  be  copies  of  mere  forms.  A  Christian 
man  through  his  conduct,  and  a  church  through  its  ser- 
vices, may  represent  the  Christian  life,  but  the  moment 
that  the  representative  element  in  either  is  emphasized, 
the  moment  that  it  is  brought  to  our  attention  that  the 
man's  actions,  attitudes,  or  facial  and  vocal  expressions 
are  assumed  for  the  purpose  of  representing,  he  suggests 
to  us  a  Pharisee,  if  not  a  hypocrite.  With  art  it  is  the 
opposite.  Its  object  is  to  represent;  and  the  actor  upon 
the  stage,  or  any  imitator  of  real  life  as  delineated  in  the 
drama  or  the  novel,  or  depicted  in  the  picture  or  the  statue, 
awakens  our  approval  in  the  exact  degree  of  the  unmis- 
takably representative  character  of  his  performance. — 
Essentials  of  Esthetics,  iii. 

RELIGIOUS  vs.  ARTISTIC  TRUTH. 

There  is  much  religious  truth  in  "Paradise  Lost,"  for 
instance,  but  there  might  have  been  just  as  much  of  this 
in  a  poorly  written  prose  work.  What  makes  Milton's 
religious  truth  artistic,  is  its  poetic  embodiment;  and  the 
peotry  is  just  as  artistic,  so  far  as  concerns  this  alone  in 
places  in  which  there  is  no  suggestion  of  religion. — The 
Representative  Significance  of  Form,  vii. 

REPETITION  IN  ART. 

Repetition  and  everything  associated  with  it  have 
their  origin  in  the  exigencies  of  form.  At  the  same  time, 
we  cannot  be  reminded  too  frequently  that  all  forms,  as 
used  in  art,  are  methods  of  representing  thoughts  or  feel- 
ings by  rendering  them  more  concrete  and  emphatic. 
.  .  .  The  slightest  perceptible  rubbing  or  scratching 
against  any  part  of  our  body,  if  repeated  a  sufficient  number 
of  times,  will  cause  inflammation.  The  slightest  perceptible 
vibration  that  can  affect  the  organs  of  hearing  or  sight,  if 
repeated  with  sufficient  rapidity  and  persistency,  will 
produce  a  sound  or  a  color,  and  nothing  except  repetition 
will  do  this.  The  same  is  true  of  its  use  when  appealing 
more  directly  to  the  mind.  "What  a  wonderfully  complete 
system  of  police  signalling  these  Germans  have!"  said  an 
English  gentleman  to  me  in  Stuttgart.  "They  are  at  it 
now,  as  they  have  been  for  nights  past."  We  stepped 
out  upon  a  balcony  which  stood  high  on  a  hillside,  and 
looked  down  upon  the  moon-lit  city.  "Listen,"  he  said; 
** first  you  hear  a  whistle  off  there  at  the  railway  station; 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  293 

then  one  at  the  palace;  then  one  farther  up  here  on  the  hill.** 
I  listened ;  and  what  I  heard,  and  what  he  had  heard,  came 
from  tree-toads  in  the  garden  under  us.  A  single  note 
would  not  have  attracted  his  attention.  It  was  the  repeti- 
tion of  the  notes  that  had  filled  his  imagination  with  visions 
of  socialists,  and  the  efficiency  of  police  supervision  under 
a  military  government. — The  Genesis  of  Art-Form,  Xll. 

REPRESENTATION  A  CHARACTERISTIC  OF  .ESTHETIC  ART. 

A  few  words  may  be  in  place  in  order  to  make  more  clear 
the  reason  for  the  use  of  the  term  representative  to  express 
the  general  effect  produced  by  all  the  art-forms.  This 
term  is  not  a  new  one,  though  it  has  not  previously  been 
applied  without  more  limitation.  Nor  has  it  been  selected 
in  ignorance  of  the  distinction  which  certain  English  critics 
have  made  between  what  they  call  the  representative 
and  the  presentative  arts;  but  in  the  belief  that  this  distinc- 
tion springs  from  misapprehension,  and  in  its  results  involves 
that  tendency  to  error  to  which  misapprehension  always 
leads.  The  way  in  which  the  term  came  to  be  chosen 
was  as  follows.  In  order  to  simpHfy  the  task  of  art-criticism, 
it  seemed  important  to  search  for  a  single  word  expressive 
of  an  effect,  the  presence  or  absence  of  which  in  any  work 
should  determine  the  presence  or  absence  in  it  of  artistic 
excellence.  This  word  representative,  without  any  distor- 
tion of  its  most  ordinary  meanings,  was  found  to  meet  the 
requirements.  It  was  found,  moreover,  that  it  could  be 
applied  to  all  the  art-forms  considered  in  either  of  the  two 
relations  which  exhaust  all  their  possibilities;  considered,  in 
other  words,  either  as  expressive  of  thought  and  feeling  in 
the  mind  of  the  artist,  or  as  reproducing  by  way  of  imita- 
tion things  heard  or  seen  in  the  external  world.  To  illus- 
trate this — and  from  an  art,  too,  which  we  are  told  is  merely 
presentative — let  one  be  hstening  to  an  opera  of  Beethoven 
or  Wagner,  and  desirous  of  determining  the  quality  of  the 
music  as  conditioned  by  its  power  of  expression — how  can 
he  do  this? — In  no  way  better  than  by  asking:  first,  what 
phase  of  feeling  is  the  music  intended  to  represent?  and, 
second,  does  it  represent  what  is  intended?  With  equal 
success,  he  can  use  the  same  questions  with  reference  to 
the  story  told  in  a  ballad,  the  characters  delineated  in  a 
drama,  the  events  depicted  in  a  painting,  the  ideal  typified 
in  a  statue,  the  design  embodied  in  a  building.      He  can 


294  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

apply  the  same  questions,  too,  to  the  forms  considered  as 
imitations  of  things  heard  or  seen.  Handel's  "Pastoral 
Symphony"  and  the  music  of  the  Forest  Scene  in  Wagner's 
"Siegfried"  express  not  only  certain  phases  of  feehng, 
but  these  as  influenced  by  certain  surrounding  conditions 
of  external  nature;  and  though,  for  reasons  to  be  given 
hereafter,  music  is  the  least  imitative  of  the  arts,  it  is  not, 
for  this  reason,  as  some  have  claimed,  merely  presentative. 
Such  works  as  have  been  mentioned  must  contain  at  least 
enough  of  the  imitative  element  to  represent,  by  way  of 
association,  if  no  more,  the  surroundings  suggested.  The 
same  may  be  affirmed  of  the  accessories  or  situations  in 
a  ballad  or  a  drama;  and  of  the  colors,  proportions,  or 
natural  methods  of  adapting  means  to  ends  in  a  painting,, 
a  statue,  or  a  building. 

The  term  representative,  as  thus  appHed,  moreover,  is 
appropriate  not  only  in  the  sense  indicated  by  ordinary 
usage,  but  in  the  specific  sense  indicated  by  its  etymology. 
The  peculiarity  of  art,  and  of  all  art,  is  that  it  not  only 
presents,  but  literally  re-presents;  that  is,  presents  over 
and  over  again  in  like  series  of  movements,  metaphors, 
measures,  lines,  contours,  colors,  whatever  they  may  be, 
both  the  thoughts  which  it  expresses  and  the  forms  through 
which  it  expresses  them. — Art  in  Theory,  Preface. 

In  the  volume  of  this  series  of  essays  entitled  "Art  in 
Theory,"  an  endeavor  was  made  to  show  that  art  in 
general  is  nature  made  human,  and  that  art  of  the  highest 
character  is  nature  made  human  in  the  highest  sense.  It 
was  pointed  out  that,  for  this  kind  of  art,  only  such  forms 
of  nature  are  available  as  are  audible  and  visible;  and 
that  these  forms  in  such  art  are  well  used  only  when 
made  significant  of  thoughts  and  emotions.  In  accordance 
with  this  understanding,  it  was  maintained  that  all  the 
higher  arts  are  representative,  and  this  in  two  senses, 
— representative  rather  than  communicative  of  thought  or 
emotion  in  the  mind  of  the  artist,  which  fact  causes  them 
to  be  appropriately  termed  the  humanities ;  and  representa- 
tive rather  than  imitative  of  that  which  is  audible  or  visible 
in  the  mind's  material  environment,  which  latter  fact  causes 
them  to  be  appropriately  termed  the  arts  of  form,  i.  e.,  of 
appearance,  or  aesthetic,  i.  e.,  fitted  to  be  perceived. — 
Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as  Representative 
Arts,  I. 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  295 

{Recapitulation:)  In  treating  of  each  of  the  arts  con- 
sidered separately,  the  discussion  is  begun  by  showing 
that  it  is  natural  as  well  as  necessary  for  a  man  to  express 
his  thoughts  and  emotions  through  audible  or  visible  forms ; 
and  that  a  certain  method  of  developing  these  forms  causes 
them  to  be  artistic.  It  is  shown,  besides,  that,  even  before 
thus  developed,  the  forms  are  all  of  them  methods  of  com- 
municating thoughts  and  feelings  through  using,  for  this 
purpose,  certain  external  factors  which,  in  themselves,  are 
devoid  of  thought  or  feeling;  in  other  words,  that  artists, 
owing  to  an  application  of  the  principle  of  association  or  of 
comparison,  reveal  operations  of  the  mind  through  employ- 
ing, either  by  way  of  appropriation  or  reference,  the  physical 
phenomena  of  nature;  and  that,  for  this  reason,  we  can 
understand  the  arts  fully  only  so  far  as  we  consider  them 
as  representative,  on  the  one  hand,  of  mental  conceptions, 
and,  on  the  other,  of  material  surroundings.  In  the 
volumes  devoted  to  this  subject,  therefore,  it  is  shown 
that  it  is  possible  for  every  natural  method  of  expression 
to  become  thus  representative,  at  times,  both  of  the  human 
mind  and  of  external  nature.  The  elementary  factors  of 
expression  are  shown  to  be,  in  the  arts  of  sound,  intonations 
and  words,  and,  in  the  arts  of  sight,  gestures,  drawings, 
carvings,  and  other  objects  made  by  hand.  From  these 
primarily  it  is  argued  that  form  in  representative  art 
is  developed.  The  ways  in  which  it  is  developed  are 
indicated,  first,  by  analyzing  the  methods  in  which  these 
factors  are  made  to  be  expressive,  and  observing  for  what 
phase  of  representation,  either  mental  or  material,  each 
phase  of  expression  is  fitted;  and  later  by  observing  the 
general  efiEect  of  the  representation  produced  when  the 
methods  and  phases  are  combined  in  a  completed  art-form. 
Expression  is  found  to  be  produced  through  different 
methods  of  using,  in  the  arts  of  sound,  duration,  force, 
pitch,  and  quality  of  tone,  and — respectively  corresponding 
to  these,  in  the  arts  of  sight — extension,  strength  of  line, 
hue,  and  mixture  of  hues.  It  is  from  these  methods  that 
we  derive  and,  as  affected  by  instinctive,  reflective,  or 
emotive  tendencies,  that  we  appropriate  for  representa- 
tive purposes  such  effects  as  those  of  movement,  pause, 
accent,  versification,  metre,  tune,  tone,  and  other  char- 
acteristics of  rhythm  and  harmony  of  sound;  and  such 
effects  as  those  of  size,  shape,  shacfing,  tinting,  and  other 


296  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

characteristics   of   proportion   and  harmony   of  Hne   and 
color. — Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color,  xxvi. 

REPRESENTATION,  BY  MEANS  OF  ASSOCIATION  AND  COMPARI- 
SON (see  COMPARISON  AND  ASSOCIATION  and  WORDS, 
THEIR  meaning). 

As  thoughts  and  emotions  cannot  be  heard  or  seen  in 
themselves,  they  cannot  be  presented  or  communicated  to 
another  directly.  They  must  be  represented  indirectly; 
i.  e.,  through  the  use  of  a  medium  differing  from  themselves 
in  that  it  can  be  heard  and  seen.  This  medium  the  mind 
must  find  in  material  nature,  the  sounds  and  sights  of  which 
it  can  accept,  imitate,  modify,  and  develop  for  the  purposes 
of  expression,  but  cannot  originate.  While  saying  this, 
however,  it  was  also  said  that,  among  the  sounds  of  nature 
which  may  be  used  for  artistic  purposes  must  be  included 
any  sounds  whatever,  even  though  traceable  to  men.  Their 
material  bodies  are  manifestations  of  material  nature;  and, 
this  being  so,  of  course  the  same  is  true  of  their  instinctively 
used,  and  what  we  may  term  natural,  as  distinguished  from 
artistic,  vocal  utterances.  Among  the  sights  of  nature, 
again  must  be  included,  for  the  same  reason,  any  visible 
movements  or  constructions  of  men;  and,  this  being  so,  of 
course  included  among  them  must  be  also  their  instinctively 
used  gestures.  Owing  to  the  imperceptible  character  of 
that  which  is  within  our  minds,  all  outward  expressions  of 
this,  and,  therefore,  all  art,  even  of  the  most  ordinary 
kind,  must  exemplify  the  principle  of  representation. 
But  the  highest  art  must  do  so  most  emphatically.  This 
is  because  it  must  give  expression  to  processes  of  thought 
and  emotion  of  the  highest,  in  the  sense  of  the  most  subtle, 
quality,  and  as  these  processes  are  the  most  distinctively 
mental,  they  are  the  most  distinctively  different  in  essence 
from  any  material  form  through  which  they  can  be  expressed. 
It  is,  therefore,  particularly  necessary  that  when  used 
as  a  vehicle  for  them  the  form  should  manifest  this  differ- 
ence; and  it  can  do  so  in  the  degree  only  in  which  it  mani- 
fests clearly  what  is  its  own  nature  as  contrasted  with  theirs ; 
in  other  words,  in  the  degree  only  in  which  its  representa- 
tive, as  contrasted  with  any  possibly  presentative  character, 
is  particularly  emphasized  by  being  made  particularly 
apparent.  This  statement  suggests  that  there  is  a  connec- 
tion between  the  use  in  art  of  the  term  representation,  as 
meaning  the  expression  of  thought  and  emotion,  and  its 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  297 

more  ordinary  use  in  the  second  sense  mentioned  in  our 
opening  paragraph,  i.  e.,  as  meaning  the  imitation  of  external 
phenomena.  This  connection  arises  from  the  fact  that 
the  communicative  intention  of  the  forms  of  expression 
can  be  made  particularly  apparent  in  the  degree  only  in 
which  the  imitative  character  of  the  factors  composing 
the  forms — that  is  of  the  sounds  and  sights  of  external 
nature — is  made  apparent.  This  is  the  ground  taken  in 
Chapters  VI.  and  VIII.  of  "  Art  in  Theory,"  which  are 
devoted  to  showing  that  the  representation  of  thoughts 
and  emotions  and  of  external  sounds  and  sights  necessarily 
go  together.  An  artificially  shaped  machine,  it  was  said, 
at  once  suggests  the  question,  "What  can  it  do?"  But 
a  drawing  or  carving  with  a  form  resembling  something 
in  nature  never  suggests  this  question,  but  rather,  "What 
did  the  man  who  drew  the  object  think  about  it  or  of  it 
that  he  should  have  made  a  copy  of  it?"  The  principle 
that  renders  it  possible  for  the  forms  of  art  to  represent, 
in  the  senses  just  indicated,  both  mental  processes  and  ma- 
terial surroundings  is,  in  general,  that  of  correspondence.  But 
subordinately,  there  are  two  different,  though  closely  related, 
principles  in  accordance  with  which  this  correspondence  may 
be  manifested.  One  principle — which  is  the  one  mainly  in- 
volved in  the  representation  of  thoughts  and  emotions — is 
that  of  association;  the  other,  which  is  mainly  involved  in 
the  representation  of  the  appearances  of  nature,  is  that  of 
comparison. — Paintings  Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as  Repre- 
sentative Arts,  I. 

REPRESENTATION  IN  ART. 

The  conceptions  of  science  are  due,  as  we  have  found, 
to  an  investigation,  so  far  as  possible,  of  every  condition 
preceding  an  apprehended  phenomenon.  Of  course,  what 
is  thus  obtained  can  be  imparted  to  others  just  as  it  is, 
only  so  far  as  every  factor  entering  into  the  knowledge 
communicated  has  been  given  expression  in  the  outward 
form  of  communication,  or,  as  we  may  say,  has  heen  formu- 
lated. On  the  contrary,  the  imagination  of  art  draws  its 
ideas  and  constructs  its  ideals  of  a  whole  class  of  phenomena 
from  observing  a  few  conditions  only,  which  are  the  more 
apparent  ones  and  are  taken  as  representative  of  all  of  them. 
It  is  evident  that  what  is  thus  obtained  can  be  imparted 
to  others  just  as  it  is  experienced  in  the  mind,  only  so  far 
as  these  same  few  conditions  can  be  given  expression  in  the 


298  :  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

outward  form  in  such  ways  as  to  exert  on  the  minds  of 
others  the  same  representative  effects. — The  Representative 
Significance  of  Forrrij  xii. 

REPRESENTATION  IN  ART  VS.  COMMUNICATION. 

Just  as  representation  is  a  more  appropriate  term  than 
imitation  through  which  to  indicate  the  result  of  an  artistic 
reproduction  of  the  appearances  of  nature,  so  the  same 
word  is  more  appropriate  than  communication  or  any 
like  term  through  which  to  indicate  the  artistic  expression 
of  thoughts  or  feelings.  If  this  were  not  so,  if  the  primary 
object  of  art  were  to  communicate,  then  would  it  not 
do  this  more  successfully  than  do  other  forms  of  expression? 
But  does  art  do  this  more  successfully?  To  say  nothing 
of  music  and  architecture,  which  all  men  know  to  be  very 
deficient  in  the  matter  of  communicating  definite  informa- 
tion of  any  kind,  do  poetry,  painting,  and  sculpture  give  a 
more  satisfactory  communication  with  reference  to  thought 
or  feeling,  in  the  sense  of  indicating  more  clearly  exactly 
what  a  particular  thought  or  feeling  is,  than  do  sounds  and 
sights  as  they  are  used  in  ordinary  speech  and  writing? 
The  moment  we  ask  the  question,  we  are  ready  to  answer. 
No.  A  frequent  effect  of  making  any  method  of  communica- 
tion more  artistic  is  to  make  it  less  intelligible.  As  a  rule, 
sighs,  shrieks,  wails,  can  communicate,  and  cause  a  listener 
to  realize,  too,  the  particular  thought  or  feeling  to  which 
they  give  expression  far  more  unmistakably  than  is  possible 
for  a  musical  passage,  unaccompanied  by  words,  whatever 
ma}^  be  the  amount  of  its  hush,  trill,  force,  or  complexity. 
As  a  rule,  a  plain,  direct  utterance  of  sentiment,  or  state- 
ment of  fact,  is  far  more  readily  apprehended,  if  that  be 
all  that  is  desired,  than  the  most  imaginative  effort  of 
poetry.  As  a  rule,  a  few  objects  carelessly  but  clearly 
drawn  or  carved,  even  if  as  rudely  as  in  an  ancient  hiero- 
glyph, a  few  tree-trunks  roughly  built  together  for  support 
and  shelter,  can  convey  intelligence  of  their  purpose  much 
more  distinctly  than  works  of  painting  or  sculpture  or 
architecture  upon  which  men  have  expended  years  of 
labor.  Were  the  communication  of  thought  or  feeling  the 
object  of  art,  it  would  be  a  very  senseless  undertaking  to  try 
to  attain  this  object  and  expend  years  of  labor  upon  it  by 
making  the  forms  of  communication  from  which  art  is 
developed  less  communicative. 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  299 

Yet,  evidently,  these  forms  of  natural  expression — in- 
tonation, speech,  drawing,  coloring,  constructing, — just 
at  the  point  where  most  satisfactory  as  means  of  com- 
municating thought  and  feeling,  lack  something  that  art 
needs.  What  is  this?  It  is  not  difficult  to  tell,  and  is 
clearly  suggested  by  all  that  has  been  unfolded  thus  far 
in  this  essay.  They  lack  that  which  can  be  given,  in 
connection  with  expression,  by  the  reproduction  of  the 
effects  of  nature.  Penmanship  and  hieroglyphics  lack 
the  appearances  of  nature  that  are  copied  in  painting  and 
sculpture.  Prose  lacks  figures  of  speech  and  descriptions 
that  in  poetry  are  constantly  directing  attention  to  the 
same  appearances;  and  even  the  elements  subsequently 
developed  into  music  and  architecture  lack  traces  of  a 
very  keen  observation  and  extensive  use  of  effects  in 
nature  which  would  not  need  to  be  observed  or  used  at 
all,  were  the  end  in  view  attainable  by  the  mere  com- 
munication of  thought  or  feeling.  Were  communication 
the  end  of  any  art,  the  elaboration  of  the  forms  of  nature 
would  cease  at  the  point  where  they  became  sufficient  for 
this  purpose.  But  it  does  not  cease  there,  and  it  does 
not  do  so  because  art  must  express  thought  or  feeling  by 
way  not  of  communication,  but  of  representation. — Essen- 
tials of  Esthetics,  vii. 

The  method  of  the  appeal  to  the  mind  in  art  is  not 
through  direct  unequivocal  statements,  but  through  in- 
direct suggestive  representations,  which  awaken  interest 
in  order  to  stimulate  the  processes  of  imagination. — The 
Representative  Significance  of  Form,  xiv. 

What  is  imagination?  It  is  the  faculty  of  the  mind  that 
forms  images.  Of  course,  in  the  degree  in  which  the  appeal 
is  made  so  definite  that  nothing,  as  we  say,  is  left  to  im- 
agination, it  is  not  stimulated.  Let  us  apply  this  principle 
now  to  poetry.  Words  apparently  convey  definite  mean- 
ings, yet  it  is  a  fact  that  they  can  also  be  representative. 
If  not,  they  are  merely  presentative  or  communicative,  and, 
therefore,  not  poetic,  but  prosaic.  To  understand  this 
distinction  is  necessary  to  an  understanding  of  poetic 
art.  Take,  for  instance,  these  verses  by  Longfellow. 
What  he  wishes  to  say  is  that  death  may  overtake  the 
artist  before  he  acquires  the  skill  on  which  his  heart  is  set. 
Had  he  merely  communicated,  or  stated,  this  faot,  he  would 


300  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

have  written  prose;  but  he  represented  it,  and  therefore  we 
call  what  he  wrote  poetry,  e.  g., 

Art  is  long  and  time  is  fleeting, 

And  our  hearts,  though  stout  and  brave, 
Still  like  muffled  drums  are  beating 
Funeral  marches  to  the  grave. 

The  Psalm  of  Life. 
— Essentials  of  /Esthetics^  vii. 

Poetry  may  be  strictly  representative  of  external  sights 
and  sounds, — may  confine  itself  to  that  which  reproduces 
for  the  imagination  a  picture;  and  yet  may  be  equally  and 
in  the  highest  sense  representative  also  of  those  ideas  and 
feelings  which  exist  in  only  the  mind. — Idem. 

No  matter  how  perfect  rhythm  or  rhyme  one  may  pro- 
duce through  arrangements  of  words,  the  result  is  prose, 
not  poetry,  unless  the  thought,  instead  of  being  presented 
directly,  is  represented,  as  we  may  say,  indirectly,  so  as  to 
cause  it  to  afford  virtually  an  argument  from  analogy. 
Frequently,  one  judges  of  poetic  excellence  by  the  degree  in 
which  the  thoughts  or  emotions  could  not  be  communicated 
at  all  unless  they  were  thus  suggested  rather  than  stated; 
by  the  degree,  therefore,  in  which  their  essential  character 
is  subtle,  intangible,  invisible — in  short,  spiritual. — Essay 
on  Art  and  Education. 

REPRESENTATION  IN  ART  VS.  IMITATION   {see  IMITATION  Vs). 

I  According  to  Webster,  to  represent  means  "to  present 
again  either  by  image,  by  action,  by  symbol,  or  by  sub- 
stitute," and  there  is  no  possible  use  of  natural  forms  in 
art  that  cannot  be  included  under  one  of  these  heads.  Imita- 
tion, which  is,  undoubtedly,  a  frequent  process  in  art,  can 
be  included  thus ;  but  so  can  many  other  processes  that  are 
not  imitative.  Representation  has  a  broader  applicability, 
and  by  using  this  term  we  can  get  something  expressing 
the  exact  truth  in  all  cases.  An  orchestral  passage  in  an 
opera,  or  a  declamatory  scene  in  a  drama,  cannot,  strictly 
speaking,  copy  or  imitate,  but  it  can  represent  an  exchange 
of  thought  between  a  demigod  and  a  forest  bird,  as  in 
Wagner's  "Siegfried,"  or  a  conversation  between  historic 
characters  as  in  Shakespeare's  "Henry  the  Eighth."  A 
painting  of  a  man  on  canvas,  or  a  statue  of  him  in  marble, 
does  not,  strictly  speaking,  copy  or  imitate  a  man,  who, 
actually  considered,  can  be  neither  flat  nor  white;  but  it  does 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  301 

represent  him.  Columns,  arches,  and  roofs  do  not,  by  any 
means,  copy  or  imitate,  but  they  do  represent  the  trunks 
and  branches  and  water-shedding  leaves  of  the  forest. 
Nothing  in  fact  that  a  man  can  make  of  the  materials  at  his 
disposal  can,  strictly  speaking,  copy  or  imitate  in  all  its 
features  that  which  is  found  in  nature;  but  he  can  always 
represent  this. — The  Essentials  of  Esthetics,  vi. 

Of  whatever  art  we  may  be  speaking,  it  will  not  do  to 
say  that  its  sole  aim  is  to  imitate  nature,  not  even,  putting 
it  in  a  milder  form,  that  it  is  to  reproduce  the  appearances 
of  nature.  .  .  .  The  most  that  can  be  said  with  truth  is  that 
the  forms  of  nature  are  reproduced  by  the  artist  with  the 
aim  of  having  them  appeal  to  others  as  they  have  appealed 
to  himself,  as  they  have  exerted  an  effect  upon  his  mind,  as 
they  have  influenced  his  thoughts  and  feelings.  Of  course, 
in  order  to  accomplish  this  aim  merely,  he  must  represent 
the  appearances  so  as  to  recall  their  state  in  nature,  and, 
where  imitation  is  demanded,  he  must  imitate  with  accu- 
racy. But  he  would  be  the  last  in  the  world  to  acknowledge 
that  he  has  added  to  his  work  nothing  originated  in  his 
own  brain,  and  that  what  he  has  produced  is  a  simple 
reproduction.  He  considers  it  a  representation. — Art  in 
Theory,  iv. 

A  like  fact  is  true  of  the  photograph.  For  the  very 
reason  that  it  is  an  imitation,  in  the  sense  of  being  a  literal 
presentation,  of  every  outline  on  which  the  light  at  the 
time  when  it  was  taken  happened  to  fall,  it  does  not 
awaken  in  us  the  kind  or  degree  of  imaginative  interest 
or  of  sympathy  that  we  feel  in  paintings  or  statues.  Un- 
like the  impressions  that  we  receive  from  the  photograph, 
in  gazing  at  these  latter,  we  feel  that  we  are  looking  through 
an  artist's  eye,  seeing  only  what  he  saw  or  thought  fit  for 
us  to  see,  and  that  everything  in  them  is  traceable  to  the 
skill  displayed  by  him  in  transferring  what  in  nature  is 
presented  in  one  medium  into  another,  as  in  delineating 
flesh  and  foliage  through  the  use  of  color  and  in  turning 
veins  and  lace  into  marble.  The  same  principle  applies 
in  architecture.  The  man  of  the  backwoods  who  came  to 
an  early  centre  of  civilization,  and  stood  before  the  first 
stone  colonnade  that  he  had  seen,  was  not  charmed  with  it 
because  it  imitated  so  exactly  the  row  of  poles  that  supported 
the  projecting  eaves  of  the  huts  which  for  centuries  had 


302  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

been  constructed  by  his  ancestors;  his  delight  was  owing  to 
the  fact  of  his  perceiving  in  another  material,  exceedingly 
difficult  to  work,  that  which  represented  the  forms  presented 
to  his  view  at  home. — Idem. 

REPRESENTATION   IN   BUILDING    (see       ARCHITECTURE, 

REPRESENTATIVE,  and  ARCHITECTURE  REPRESENTATIVE 

OF  thought). 

REPRESENTATION  IN  HARMONY. 

As  represented  in  sound,  it  may  be  said  that  every 
mood  that  is  absolutely  normal,  because  healthful,  strong, 
buoyant,  joyous,  or  unimpeded,  or,  to  state  this  in  a  general 
way,  every  mood  in  which  the  conditions  appear  to  the 
mind  to  be  satisfactory,  naturally  tends  to  harmonic  expres- 
sion. On  the  contrary,  every  abnormal,  unhealthy, 
because  weak,  depressed,  sad,  or  impeded  mood,  or  every 
mood  in  which  the  conditions  appear  to  the  mind  to  be 
unsatisfactory,  because  leaving  conceptions  in  a  state  of 
suspense,  naturally  tends  to  inharmonic  expression.  This 
latter  is  what  we  hear,  therefore,  in  the  moaning  and 
crying  of  weakness,  in  the  fretting  and  complaining  of 
hopelessness  and  misery,  and  in  any  habits  of  tone,  like 
the  so-called  "ministerial, "  which  are  produced  by  dwelling 
upon  the  more  pathetic  aspects  of  subjects.  ...  As  repre- 
sented in  music,  this  inharmonic  effect  is  expressed  in  what 
is  termed  the  minor  interval  which,  while  itself  not  abso- 
lutely inharmonic — if  it  were  so  it  could  not  be  used  as  a 
factor  of  musical  harmony, — is,  nevertheless,  suggestive 
of  a  lack  of  harmony ;  and  it  is  this  fact  that  accounts  for  the 
associations  that  all  have  with  this  interval.  It  is  the 
musical  adaptation  of  that  which,  in  speech,  represents 
suspense,  and,  therefore,  the  depressed  and  pathetic. 
There  are  other  conditions,  too.  .  .  .  That  for  which,  when 
listening  to  a  series  of  chords,  the  musical  ear  is  in  search, 
is  harmony.  Whenever,  therefore,  it  does  not  hear  this, 
.  .  .  the  impression  conveyed  is  that  thought  and  feeling 
are  waiting  for  a  desired  consummation  that  delays  coming. 
...  It  is  forced,  by  a  law  of  nature,  to  desire  to  have  the 
movements  of  the  chords  continue  till  the  perfectly  har- 
monious is  reached.  For  this  reason,  the  chord  of  the 
seventh  augments  the  feeling  of  unrest  and  dissatisfaction, 
and  prepares  the  mind,  by  way  of  contrast,  for  the  restful, 
satisfying  closing  effect  of  the  chord  of  the  keynote  when, 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  303 

at  the  next  sound,  the  phrase  is  brought  to  a  conclusion. — 
Rhythm  and  Harmony  in  Poetry  and  Music:  Music  as  a 
Representative  Art,  v. 

REPRESENTATION  IN  MELODY. 

I  can  now  recall  no  melody  of  great  popularity  in  which 
underneath  all  the  decorative  vestiture  of  the  form,  however 
much  the  pitch  may  be  pushed  up  here  or  pulled  down  there, 
it  is  not  possible  to  detect  general  outlines  true  to  certain 
first  principles  of  vocal  expression.  Some  melodies,  indeed, 
like  "Comin  thro'  the  Rye"  can  be  talked  off  with  absolute 
fidelity  to  every  musical  note.  But  if  melody  be  thus 
developed  from  speech,  the  same  must  be  remotely  true  of 
harmony,  for  this,  in  its  turn,  as  shown  in  Chapters  XII.  to 
XV.  of  '*  Rhythm  and  Harmony,"  is  itself,  in  its  incipi- 
ency,  a  development  of  melody. — Painting,  Sculpture,  and 
Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,  Preface. 

What  is  true  of  this  melody  is  true  of  almost  every 
melody  that  proves  to  be  permanently  popular.  Beneath 
what  is  sometimes  great  exaggeration,  we  can  detect  the 
intonations  natural  to  the  speaking  utterance  of  the  senti- 
ments expressed.  This  is  the  same  as  to  say  that,  in  such 
cases,  music,  while  in  no  sense  imitative,  is  nevertheless 
representative  of  the  intonations  of  speech.  In  other 
cases,  it  might  be  said  to  be  a  development  of  something 
that  lies  behind  the  intonations  of  speech;  and  which, 
though  having  the  same  cause,  antedates  them,  i,  e.,  a 
development  of  humming  in  which  almost  every  one,  at 
times,  indulges.  A  man,  in  the  subjective,  absent-minded 
condition  in  which  he  takes  to  humming,  is  usually  uncon- 
scious of  the  presence  either  of  surrounding  persons  or  of 
sounds.  He  is  not  in  a  mood,  therefore,  either  to  address 
the  persons  distinctly,  or  to  repeat  the  sounds  accurately. 
But  while  this  is  true,  it  is  also  true  that  his  method  of 
expression  will  necessarily,  not  in  a  specific  but  in  a  general 
way,  represent  his  surroundings.  If  he  have  ever  heard, 
especially  if  he  have  heard  frequently,  sounds  like  the 
humming  of  bees,  the  whistling  of  winds  or  of  railway 
locomotives,  or  the  notes  of  squirrels,  quails,  whippoorwills, 
robins,  catbirds,  or  of  songs  sung,  or  of  exclamations  or 
speeches  made  by  men  and  women  about  him,  in  nine  cases 
out  of  ten  his  own  tones,  at  times  unconsciously  to  himself, 
but  nevertheless  actually,  will  imitate  some  of  these  sounds 


304  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHERS  CABINET 

all  of  which,  being  external  to  himself,  are,  so  far  as  he  is 
concerned,  those  of  external  nature.  Music,  therefore, 
may  be  said  to  represent  not  only  the  natural  intonations  of 
the  human  voice,  but  natural  sounds  coming  from  sources 
that  are  not  human. — Essentials  of  Esthetics,  vi. 

REPRESENTATION  IN  MUSIC  ($66  alsO  PITCH). 

Some  have  declared  it  to  be  presentative  rather  than 
representative,  not  recognizing  that  a  use  of  such  elements 
of  duration,  force,  pitch,  and  quality  as  enable  us  to  distin- 
guish between  a  love-song,  a  dirge,  and  a  tragic  passage 
would  altogether  fail  to  convey  their  meaning,  unless  there 
were  something  in  the  movement  to  represent  ideas  or  emo- 
tions which  we  were  accustomed  to  associate  with  similar 
movements  perceived  in  nature. — Idem, 

It  is  evident  that  music  may  be  representative  in  the 
ways  indicated  without  being  in  any  distinctive  sense 
imitative.  All  that  is  necessary  is  that  its  successive  phases 
should  follow  a  general  order  similar  to  that  to  which  we 
have  become  accustomed  in  certain  series  of  sounds  or  sights 
in  nature.  We  have  noticed,  perhaps,  a  quiet  rill  devel- 
oped into  a  cataract,  and  this  again  into  a  quiet  pool;  or 
a  clear  sky  developed  into  a  storm  and  this  again  into  a 
clear  sky;  or  peace  developed  into  war  and  this  again  into 
peace;  and  one  or  the  other  of  these  series  of  phenomena 
is  suggested  to  us  when  we  hear  a  series  of  musical  effects 
developed  in  what  appears  to  be  a  similar  order.  The 
reason  why  these  or  any  other  phenomena  are  suggested 
is  because  of  the  principle  of  correspondence,  which,  as  has 
been  said,  underlies  all  methods  of  expression,  especially 
those  exemplified  in  discoursive  elocution.  According 
to  this  principle,  it  is  instinctively  felt,  even  when  not 
consciously  thought,  that  different  phases  of  invisible  and 
inaudible  moods  follow  one  another  in  analogy  to  phases 
of  a  visible  or  an  audible  character. — Rhythm  and  Harmony 
in  Poetry  and  Music:  Music  as  a  Representative  Art,  vii. 

REPRESENTATION  IN  MUSIC  AND  IN  VISIBLE  FORMS. 

I  once  went  over  the  motives  of  Wagner  with  the  most 
broadly  cultured  musician  whom  I  knew,  and  I  found  that 
while  he  perceived,  at  once,  the  representative  elements  in 
what  are  ordinarily  termed  imitative  passages,  he  failed  to 
perceive  them,  till  pointed  out  to  him,  in  many  other 
passages  so  unmistakably  developed  from  the  intonations  of 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  305 

Speech  that  to  me  they  seemed  to  talk — of  course  only  in  the 
sense  of  voicing  the  trend  of  emotive  processes  which 
alone  is  possible  to  music — almost  as  plainly  as  if  the 
notes  were  words.  .  .  .  What  he  lacked  was  my  twenty 
years'  experience  in  teaching  the  melody  of  speech.  So 
with  the  significance  of  visible  form.  One  whose  experience 
has  forced  him,  as  mine  has,  to  the  conclusion  that  every 
shape  of  the  human  body,  natural  or  assumed,  has  a  mean- 
ing peculiar  to  itself,  though  possibly  beyond  even  an 
expert's  power  of  interpretation,  finds  himself,  very  soon, 
according  to  the  principle  of  association,  drawing  the  same 
conclusion  with  reference  to  all  shapes,  whether  human  or 
not  human.  Those  who  think  it  not  essential  to  discuss 
the  general  accuracy  of  this  conclusion,  as  applied  to  all 
phenomena  audible  or  visible;  or  who  imagine  that,  if  true, 
art  has  no  mission  in  revealing  and  emphasizing  it,  have, 
simply,  not  learned  all  that  life  is  designed  to  teach  them ;  or 
those  who  conceive  that  the  methods  through  which  art  can 
fulfil  this  mission  can  be  apprehended  and  appreciated  with- 
out their  stopping  to  think  over  each  detail  of  the  subject, 
to  examine  the  exemplifications  of  it,  and  to  apply  many 
original  tests  of  their  own  to  it,  have  not  yet  begun  to 
learn  the  methods  through  which  life  can  teach  them  any- 
thing of  deep  importance. — Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Archi- 
tecture as  Representative  Arts,  Preface. 

REPRESENTATION  IN  POETRY,  ALLOYED   AND  PURE  (see  LAN- 
GUAGE, PLAIN  AND  figurative). 

It  has  been  said  that  whatever  is  added  to  representa- 
tion of  such  a  nature  as  to  change  it  from  pure  to  alloyed, 
must  come  from  the  poet.  This  is  true,  and  yet  he  may 
not  always  be  himself  the  primary  source  of  these  addi- 
tions. He  may  get  them  either  from  his  own  mind  or 
from  nature, — a  term  used  here  to  apply  to  everything 
external  to  himself.  If  he  get  them  from  his  own  mind,  he 
will  carry  into  excessive  development  the  tendency  which 
has  been  termed  the  instinctive,  underlying  ejaculatory 
sounds  and  aU  plain  language;  and  his  product  will  mani- 
fest a  preponderance  of  the  features  making  up  the  thought 
that  he  desires  to  express.  If  he  get  his  additions  from 
nature,  he  will  carry  into  excessive  development  the 
tendency,  which  has  been  termed  the  reflective,  underlying 
imitative   sounds   and   all   figurative   language;   and    his 


3o6  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

product  will  manifest  a  preponderance  of  the  features 
employed  in  the  form  for  the  purpose  of  amplifying  and 
illustrating  his  thought.  The  first  tendency,  carried  to  an 
extreme,  will  leave  the  form  void  of  representation,  and 
make  it  explanatory  or  didactic;  the  second  will  overload 
it  with  representation,  and  make  it  florid  or  ornate. 

Taking  up  these  tendencies  in  their  order,  we  will  ex- 
amine now  the  former  of  them,  and  first,  as  exemplified 
in  poetry  modeled  upon  direct  representation.  In  this 
form,  as  we  have  seen,  the  poet  uses  no  similes  nor  meta- 
phors. He  states  precisely  what  he  wishes  to  say — only 
what  he  says,  if  put  in  the  form  of  poetry,  must  represent 
his  thought.  If  it  merely  present  this,  he  gives  us  a  product 
not  of  the  ideal  art  of  poetry,  but  of  the  practical  art  of 
rhetoric.  This  latter  appeals  to  the  mind  through  what 
Sir  William  Hamilton  termed  the  elaborative  faculty,  and 
is  characterized  by  a  particularizing  of  details  in  explanatory 
words  and  clauses,  termed  amplification, — all  of  which 
details  together  enable  the  hearer  to  weigh  the  evidence 
that  is  offered,  and  to  draw  from  it  trustworthy  conclusions. 
Poetry,  on  the  contrary,  appeals  to  the  representative 
faculty,  and  is  characterized  by  an  absence  of  any  more 
details  or  explanatory  elements  than  are  needed  in  order  to 
form  a  picture,  and  this  for  the  reason  that  nothing  appeals 
so  strongly  to  the  imagination  as  a  hint.  At  the  same 
time,  as  poetry  and  rhetoric  both  communicate  ideas, 
there  is  a  constant  tendency  for  the  one  to  pass  into  the 
other,  for  the  poet  to  forget  that  the  poetical  depends  not 
upon  ideas  alone,  but  also  upon  the  forms  given  to  the 
ideas, — in  fact,  to  forget  that,  while  great  poetry  must 
necessarily  embody  great  thoughts,  very  genuine  poetry, 
at  times,  may  do  no  more  than  give  to  the  merest  "airy 
nothings  a  local  habitation  and  a  name." 

We  have  now  to  examine  the  effects  of  the  ornate  ten- 
dency, in  which  considerations  of  form  overbalance  those 
of  thought,  and  in  which  therefore  there  is  failure  because  of 
an  excess  of  representation.  It  is  simply  natural  for  one 
who  has  obtained  facility  in  illustrating  his  ideas  to  overdo 
the  matter,  at  times,  and  to  carry  his  art  so  far  as  to  re- 
illustrate  that  which  has  been  sufficiently  illustrated  or  is 
itself  illustrative.  The  first  form  that  we  need  to  notice, 
in  which  this  tendency  shows  itself,  is  a  poetic  development 
and  extension  of  what  rhetoricians  term  the  "far-fetched" 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  307 

Simile,  a  simile  in  which  minor  points  of  resemblance  are 
sought  out  and  dwelt  upon  in  minute  detail  and  at  un- 
necessary length.  The  fault  in  this  mode  of  illustrating,  or 
representing,  lies  in  the  fact  that  it  does  not  illustrate  nor 
represent.  The  poet,  in  writing  it,  has  made  the  form  an 
end  and  not  a  means.  His  thoughts,  and  methods  of 
developing  them,  are  suggested  by  the  representation,  and 
not  by  that  which  it  is  supposed  to  represent,  and  which  his 
readers  naturally  expect  it  to  represent.  Accordingly,  his 
readers  cannot  distinguish  the  main  thought  from  the 
illustrating  thought,  nor  this  again  from  the  re-illustrating 
thought,  and  the  whole  passage  is  necessarily  more  or  less 
obscure.  The  poet  has  not  made  his  subject  stand  forth  in 
clear,  concrete  outlines,  as  art  should  do ;  but  has  so  veneered 
and  besmeared  it  with  excess  of  ornamentation  that  no 
one  can  tell  very  decidedly  just  what  his  subject  is.  .  .  . 

Now,  suppose  a  man  in  conversation  were  to  let  his 
thoughts  run  on  in  this  way,  deviating  from  the  line  of  his 
argument  or  description,  whenever  he  happened  to  strike 
a  word  the  sense  or  sound  of  which  suggested  something 
different  from  that  of  which  he  started  out  to  speak.  What 
should  we  think  of  him?  One  of  two  things, — either  that 
he  was  insane,  or  had  a  very  poorly  disciplined  mind. 
Precisely  this  is  what  is  represented,  so  far  as  anything  is 
represented,  by  this  kind  of  poetry.  Yet,  as  we  all  know, 
the  finest  and  highest  art  must  represent  the  finest  and 
highest  efforts  of  the  finest  and  highest  powers  of  the  mind. 
If  this  be  so,  then  poetry  modeled  upon  a  form  which  is  the 
legitimate  and  natural  expression  of  an  insane  or  a  poorly 
disciplined  mind,  is  not  poetry  of  the  finest  and  highest 
order. — Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art,  xxiv. 

We  will  examine  now  the  form  of  representation  which, 
in  contrast  to  pure,  has  been  termed  alloyed.  This  latter, 
as  has  been  said,  while  following  in  the  main  the  methods 
of  picturing  the  thoughts  that  are  used  in  pure  representa- 
tion, always  introduces  something  into  the  picture  in  ad- 
dition to  what  would  naturally  be  perceived  in  connection 
with  circumstances  like  those  that  are  being  detailed.  At 
first  thought,  it  might  be  supposed  that  these  additions 
would  not  greatly  impair  the  poetry  in  which  we  find  them. 
But  the  fallacy  of  this  supposition  will  appear,  when  we  re- 
call that  poetry  is  an  art,  and  that  all  art  is  representative. 


308  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

It  follows  from  this  that  the  purer  the  representation,  the 
purer  will  be  the  art,  and  in  the  degree  in  which  anything 
is  added  to  the  representation, — anything,  that  is,  of  such 
a  nature  that  in  like  circumstances  it  could  not  presumably 
have  been  perceived, — in  that  degree  will  the  product  be 
likely  to  lose  its  artistic  qualities. 

Some  who  may  not  recognize  the  truth  of  this  state- 
ment, when  viewed  from  a  theoretical  standpoint,  may, 
when  viewed  from  a  practical.  Let  us  look  at  it  in  this 
way  then:  whatever  is  added  to  the  representation  must 
come,  in  the  last  analysis,  from  the  artist;  and  from  him, 
when  not  exercising  his  legitimate  artistic  functions; 
when,  instead  of  giving  us  a  picture  of  nature  and  man,  as 
he  finds  them,  he  has  begun  to  give  us  his  own  explana- 
tions and  theories  concerning  them.  Now  all  explana- 
tion and  theories,  as  we  know,  are  necessarily  the  out 
growth — if  not  of  ignorance  or  superstition — at  least  of 
the  intellectual  or  spiritual  condition  of  the  age  in  which 
one  lives.  For  this  reason,  to  a  succeeding  age  they  are 
not  satisfactory,  even  if  they  do  not  prove  to  be  wholly 
fallacious;  and  a  work  of  science  or  philosophy  that  is 
made  up  of  them  usually  dies,  because  men  outgrow  their 
need  of  it,  and  do  not  care  to  keep  it  alive.  A  work  of 
artistic  poetry,  on  the  contrary,  lives  because  its  pages 
image  the  phenomena  of  nature,  and  of  human  life,  which 
can  really  be  perceived,  and  most  of  these  remain  from 
age  to  age  unchanged.  A  writer  who  confines  himself  to 
these,  which  alone  can  be  used  legitimately  in  representa- 
tion, is,  as  Jonson  said  of  Shakespeare,  "not  of  an  age  but 
for  all  time";  and  this  fact  can  be  affirmed  of  men  like 
him  alone.  Out  of  the  thousands  of  poems  written  in  the 
past,  only  those  have  come  down  to  us,  and  are  termed 
classic,  which  are  characterized  by  an  absence  of  explana- 
tions and  theories,  and  a  presence  of  that  kind  of  representa- 
tion which  has  here  been  termed  pure.  How  important, 
then,  it  is  for  the  poet  of  the  present  to  understand  just 
what  the  nature  and  requirements  of  this  pure  representa- 
tion are,  and  what  are  the  methods  of  rendering  it  alloyed 
that  should  be  avoided. — Ideniy  xxiii. 

REPRESENTATION  IN  SCULPTURE. 

Most  of  the  Venuses,  like  those  of  the  Medici,  of  Dresden, 
and  of  the  Capitol,  are  represented  in  the  attitude  instinc- 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  309 

tive  to  a  woman  surprised  in  a  state  of  nature.  The  infer- 
ence, therefore,  on  the  part  of  the  spectator,  is  clear  enough. 
She  is  thinking,  and  her  attitude  obliges  the  spectator  to 
think,  of  her  physical  appearance,  or  beauty.  The  differ- 
ence between  the  significance  expressed  in  such  a  statue  and 
in  that  of  the  Apollo  Belvedere,  who  with  outstretched 
arms  and  uplifted  brow  seems  wholly  unconscious  of  aught 
save  his  own  godlike  mission  to  the  race,  is  very  great. 
And  what  is  the  important  matter  to  be  observed  is  that 
this  difference  is  owing  to  movement  not  detailed  1  ut 
suggested,  not  such  as  could  be  represented  in  poetry,  or 
in  any  form  of  language,  but  such  as  can  be  represented 
in  a  manner  strictly  appropriate  to  only  painting  or  statu- 
ary, and  yet,  even  in  this,  in  a  manner  sufficiently  distinct 
to  render  the  impression  of  life  and  of  a  distinctive  character 
of  life  unmistakable. — The  Representative  Significance  of 
Form,  XXIV. 

REPRESENTATION      IN      SENTENCES     FROM     WHICH     POETRY 
DEVELOPS  {see  LANGUAGE,  PLAIN  AND  FIGURATIVE). 

Language  is  a  form  for  thought,  and  thought  implies 
mental  activity,  a  process,  a  series  of  sensations  and  experi- 
ences, all  of  them  exerting  more  or  less  influence  upon  one 
another.  A  single  idea  might  be  represented  in  a  single 
word,  but  a  series  of  ideas  necessitates  a  series  of  words. 
How,  now,  can  these  series  of  words  represent,  with  any- 
thing like  accuracy,  internal  processes  of  the  mind,  together 
with  the  necessary  relationships  and  interactions  that  must 
exist  between  their  constituting  elements?  Or,  to  begin  at 
the  right  place,  how  can  any  series  of  external  and  material 
elements,  even  though  they  do  represent  a  process,  represent 
a  process  that  takes  place  in  thought?  If  we  can  come  to 
understand  this,  it  will  be  easy  for  us  to  understand  how, 
according  to  a  similar  analogy,  series  of  words  can  do  the 
same.  Those  of  us  who  have  been  in  countries  with  the 
languages  of  which  we  were  not  familiar,  have,  perhaps, 
improved  our  powers  of  origination,  as  well  as  started 
original  conceptions  in  the  minds  of  those  about  us,  through 
presenting  our  internal  processes  of  thought  to  men  who 
had  not  ears  to  heed  our  English,  in  the  form  of  pantomime. 
What  other  resource  could  we  have,  when  thirsty  or  sleepy 
or  wishing  to  hire  a  hack  or  take  a  sail?  But  suppose 
that  we  had  been  shut  out  from  pantomime,  and  shut  in  to 


310  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

sound,  how,  according  to  the  same  analogy,  could  we  have 
expressed  our  processes  of  thought  through  the  latter 
medium?  Had  we  possessed  the  power  of  rendering 
intelligible  to  others  our  references  to  our  internal  sensa- 
tions, as  well  as  to  external  objects  and  operations,  by  the 
use  of  exclamations,  imitative  sounds,  and  words  derived 
from  them  by  association  and  comparison, — how  could 
we  have  combined  all  these  elements  in  such  a  way  as  to 
represent  in  sound  a  process  of  thought?  Is  not  the  answer 
simple?  Instead  of  taking  two  objects  and  joining  or  sepa- 
rating them,  could  we  not  have  taken  two  names  for  these 
objects,  and  joined  or  separated  these?  or,  if  we  wished  to 
make  our  meaning  still  more  intelligible,  joined  the  names 
by  putting  between  them  an  intervening  exclamation  expres- 
sive of  assimilation,  or  separated  them  by  putting  there  an 
expression  of  aversion?  Could  we  not  thus  have  repre- 
sented in  words  what  circumstances  had  prevented  us  from 
representing  in  pantomime?  Instead  of  emphatically 
flinging  ourselves  on  the  floor,  or  pathetically  resting  our 
heads  upon  our  hands,  when,  tired  out  in  the  evening,  we 
desired  to  show  our  wish  to  go  to  bed  why  might  we  not 
have  exclaimed  "I — bed,"  or  "I — oh — bed"?  Is  not  this 
precisely  what,  though  put  in  different  forms,  we  have  heard 
the  foreigner  do,  a  hundred  times,  perhaps,  when  trying  to 
express  in  sound  the  thought  which  his  ignorance  of  our 
language  prevented  him  from  expressing  fully?  Is  not  this 
precisely  the  method  through  which  every  child  begins 
the  difficult  process  of  conversation — i.  e.,  by  placing  two 
words  together,  which  thus  constitute  a  compound  word; 
or  by  uniting  the  two,  one  of  which  is  used  for  the  subject 
of  a  sentence  and  the  other  for  its  object,  by  a  third,  which 
serves  the  purpose  of  a  predicate?  And  it  is  well  to  notice, 
too,  in  this  connection,  that,  whether  used  by  a  foreigner 
or  a  child,  the  predicate  is  always  the  last  essential  factor 
of  a  perfect  sentence  to  be  used  with  accuracy.  "I  seen 
him,"  cried  a  street-boy  under  my  window  the  other  day; 
"and  I  throw'd  a  stone  at  him." 

While  on  this  subject,  in  order  to  show  that  the  use  of 
the  exclamation  for  the  verb  in  an  expression  like  "I — oh 
— bed,"  though,  wholly  supposititious,  is  not  entirely  out  of 
analogy  with  what  is  really  done  in  language,  it  may  be 
interesting  to  recall  what  Max  Miiller  says  of  one  of  our 
most  common  grammatical  forms — it  is.    He  tells  us  that 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  311 

this  sound  can  be  traced  back  almost  as  far  in  language  as 
we  can  go.  The  German  says  ist,  the  Roman  esty  the  Slave 
yestCy  the  Greek  esti,  and  the  Hindoo  asti.  But  asti  is  a 
compound  of  the  pronoun  ti  and  the  verb  as,  the  root  of 
which  signifies  to  breathe.  Whatever  breathes  exists  or 
is;  so  that  in  the  oldest  language  in  which  we  find  the 
verb,  it  seems  to  be  only  an  expression  representative  of  the 
fact,  and,  very  probably,  of  the  act  of  aspiration  or  breathing. 
But,  to  return  from  theory  to  fact,  we  have  found  how 
it  is  possible  to  put  words  together  in  such  a  way  as  to 
indicate  a  process.  Indeed,  whenever  we  put  them  to- 
gether in  the  right  way,  they  necessarily  do  indicate  this; 
for  in  such  cases  we  put  together  sentences,  and  sentences 
invariably  represent,  if  not  physical,  at  least  mental,  pro- 
cesses, the  subject,  as  a  rule,  indicating  the  beginning  of 
them,  the  predicate  the  continuation  of  them,  and  the 
object,  if  there  be  one,  the  end  of  them.  In  fact,  all  the 
different  grammatical  parts  of  speech  and  modifications  of 
them,  viewed  in  one  light,  are  merely  methods  of  repre- 
senting dependencies  and  relationships  of  different  parts 
of  whole  processes,  which,  with  more  or  less  completeness, 
are  represented  by  the  sentences. — Poetry  as  a  Representa- 
tive Art,  XVI. 

REPRESENTATION     IN     SOUND     AND     SIGHT     IN     DIFFERENT 
COUNTRIES. 

It  is  true  that  it  is  said  of  the  melodies  of  speech,  as 
well  as  of  the  movements  of  gesture,  such  as  are  considered 
in  the  present  volume,  that  their  significance  differs  in 
different  countries.  But  those  who  say  this,  as  some 
have  done,  imagining  the  statement,  however  true,  to 
involve  a  refutation  of  any  principle  advanced  in  this 
series  of  essays,  merely  show  how  superficially  they  have 
read  them.  As  appUed  to  music,  for  instance,  such  a 
statement  is  not  made  with  reference  to  time,  force,  or 
volume — only  with  reference  to  pitch,  as  used  in  the 
inflections.  But  in  "  Rhythm  and  Harmony,"  pages  265 
to  267,  it  is  very  carefully  shown  that  the  inflection  is  not 
representative  of  the  phraseology  but  of  the  motive  ex- 
pressed in  the  phraseology,  many  instances  being  cited  in 
which  precisely  the  same  phrases  are  rightly  uttered  with 
exactly  opposite  inflections.  This  being  understood,  the 
objection   mentioned    falls    to    the   ground.     When,    for 


312  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

instance,  for  reasons  which  the  reference  just  given  will 
indicate,  an  American  says  to  you  at  the  table,  "Will  you 
please  pass  me  the  bread?'*  with  a  rising  inflection  on 
the  last  word,  what  is  uppermost  in  his  mind  is  to  indi- 
cate his  acknowledgment  that  your  action  in  the  matter 
is  questionable ;  and  that  he  leaves  it  open  for  you  to  do 
as  you  choose.  But  when  an  Englishman  asks  the  same 
question,  as  he  almost  invariably  does,  with  a  falling 
inflection,  what  is  uppermost  in  his  mind  is  to  make  an 
assertion  with  reference  to  his  wishes,  and  to  indicate,  as, 
in  other  matters,  he  is  apt  to  do  to  such  an  extent  as  to 
seem,  at  times,  slightly  dictatorial,  that  it  is  not  open  for 
you  to  differ  from  him  in  thinking  that,  if  you  are  a  gentle- 
man, you  are  expected  to  do  as  he — gently — bids  you. 
People  of  Southern  Europe,  even  Irishmen,  sometimes 
end  what  seem  positive  assertions  with  an  upward  turn 
of  the  voice.  But  they  are  not  positive  assertions.  They 
are  grammatical  forms  of  assertion  as  uttered  by  men 
with  habits  acquired  by  being  constantly  contradicted, 
or,  at  least,  obliged  to  subordinate  their  own  views  to 
those  of  others,  who  alone  are  supposed  to  have  a  right 
to  speak  with  authority.  Of  course,  such  methods  of 
intonation,  once  acquired,  may  be  continued  from  father 
to  son  by  imitation.  But  despite  the  tendency  to  this 
latter,  they  usually  cease  to  be  continued  after  social  and 
religious  conditions  change.  One  generation  of  residence 
in  America  will  train  any  foreigner,  whatever  his  language, 
to  express  his  decided  sentiments  just  as  in  his  own  land 
his  own  babe,  before  learning  to  imitate,  invariably  does, 
without  any  such  questionable  suggestion.  Again  a 
Bedouin  will  beckon  you  toward  himself  with  a  quick 
movement  of  his  hand,  the  palm  of  which  is  not  turned 
up,  as  with  us,  but  down.  What  does  this  form  of  gesture 
mean?  Very  clearly,  that  the  Bedouin,  while  he  wishes 
you  nearer  himself,  is  not  opening  his  whole  heart  to  you, 
or  asking  you  to  occupy  a  position  on  a  social  or  sympathetic 
level  with  himself.  On  the  contrary,  unconsciously,  per- 
haps, he  is  on  his  guard  against  you  and  intends  to  keep 
you  in  a  safe  and  proper  place.  ...  In  fact,  the  character 
of  his  gesture  affords  an  almost  positive  proof  of  the  hostile 
nature  of  those  with  whom  he  and  his  fathers  have  for 
years  been  accustomed  to  associate. — Painting,  Sculpture, 
and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,  Preface. 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  313 

REPRESENTATIVE  EFFECTS  IN  ART,  THEIR  GENESIS  (see  also 
EXPRESSION  DEVELOPED  FROM  POSTURES  AND  GESTURES). 

All  forms  of  expression  possible  to  art  of  the  highest 
rank  are  developments  of  a  man's  use,  for  this  purpose,  of 
his  vocal  organs  and  of  his  hands.  This  statement  at  once 
suggests  an  inquiry  into  the  methods  through  which  vocal 
organs  and  hands  can  be  made  to  express,  or  represent, 
thoughts  and  emotions.  Evidently,  only  after  we  have 
ascertained  this,  can  we  be  prepared  to  understand  how  the 
same  can  be  expressed  in  the  arts  developed  from  these 
methods. — Essentials  of  Esthetics,  xii. 

REPRESENTATIVE  EFFECTS  IN  ARTS  OF  HEARING  (see   olsO 
REPRESENTATIVE  EFFECTS  OF  PITCH  and  OF  TONES). 

On  comparing  the  accented  and  unaccented  syllables  of 
words  like  barbarous,  murmuring,  tartarize,  Singsing,  and 
papa,  we  can  clearly  detect  four  elements.  The  accented 
syllable  differs  slightly  from  the  unaccented — first,  in 
duration:  it  is  sounded  in  longer  time;  second,  in  force:  it  is 
sounded  with  more  energy;  third,  in  pitch:  it  is  sounded  on  a 
key  that,  if  used  in  music,  would  be  relatively  higher  or 
lower  in  the  musical  scale;  and  fourth,  in  quality:  it  is 
sounded  with  more  fulness  or  sharpness  of  tone.  .  .  — 
Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art,  iii. 

With  reference  to  the  significance  of  these  elements, 
while  it  is  true  that  all,  in  a  general  way,  represent,  as  has 
been  said,  emotive  effects,  all  of  them  represent  also  certain 
peculiar  phases  of  such  effects.  ...  In  discoursive  elocu- 
tion, duration  measures  the  utterance — that  is,  it  represents 
the  mind's  measurement  of  its  ideas, — one  indication,  by  the 
way,  of  the  appropriateness  of  the  poetic  term,  meters,  or 
measures,  which  result  from  giving  different  kinds  of  dura- 
tion to  syllables;  force  energizes  utterance;  pitch  aims  it; 
and  quality  tempers  it.  Of  the  last  three,  again,  force 
imparts  physique  to  delivery;  pitch,  intellectuality,  and 
quality,  emotion  or  soul,  by  which,  as  has  been  explained,  is 
meant  that  balancing  and  blending  of  physical  and  intel- 
lectual tendencies  which  manifest  the  degree  in  which  the 
man  is  master  or  slave  of  body  or  mind. — Idem,  iii. 

REPRESENTATIVE  EFFECTS  IN  ARTS  OF  SIGHT. 

It  will  be  observed  also  .  .  .  that  each  particular  effect 
in  the  elements  of  sight,  as  in  those  of  sound,  is  representa- 
tive; and  that  it  is  so  because  of  an  application  of  the 


314  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

principle  either  of  association  or  of  comparison;  or,  some- 
times, as  is  frequently  the  case,  of  both  of  these  together. 
.  .  .  We  shall  find,  as  applied  to  the  representation  of  mind 
— as  distinguished  from  the  representation  of  external 
phenomena,  which,  being  mainly  imitative,  usually  inter- 
prets itself — that  the  degree  of  extension  or  the  size  indicates 
what  the  artist  conceives  to  be — and,  therefore,  uses  to 
express — the  degree  of  material  and,  in  this  sense,  physical 
influence;  whereas  the  other  effects  indicate  what  he  con- 
ceives to  be — and,  therefore,  uses  to  express — the  degree  of 
mental  influence.  Of  these  effects,  touch  or  handling,  as 
manifested  in  the  relative  strength,  gradation,  or  regularity 
of  lines  or  their  shading,  naturally  suggests  the  relative 
expenditure  of  will-power.  Pitch,  as  manifested  in  the 
relative  brightness  either  of  hues  or  of  the  light  that  is  in 
them,  naturally  suggests  the  mental  motive,  a  brilliant  color 
attracting  the  attention  and  a  dull  color  doing  the  oppo- 
site; and  quality,  as  manifested  in  the  relative  purity  or 
mixture  of  hues,  as  in  blues  or  reds  as  contrasted  with 
grays  or  browns,  naturally  suggests  the  mental  feeling. 
Thus  we  may  say  that  extension  measures,  touch  energizes, 
the  degree  of  color  aims,  and  the  quality  of  color  tempers 
the  appearance;  that  the  first  determines  the  scope  of 
influence;  the  second,  the  degree  of  executive  force;  the 
third,  of  intellection;  and  the  fourth,  of  emotion  or  soul. 
— Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as  Representative 
Arts,  II. 

REPRESENTATIVE  EFFECTS  IN  DURATION 

What  is  indicated  by  fast  time,  and  by  vslow  time  ?  Evi- 
dently these,  respectively,  imitate  effects  in  nature  that 
move  rapidly  and  slowly.  In  addition  to  this,  by  way  of 
association,  rapidity  is  indicative  of  moods  that  are  joyous 
or  mirthful;  or,  as  applied  to  special  thoughts  or  feelings, 
of  such  as  seem  deserving  of  only  brief  consideration  because 
they  are  light  or  trifling.  Slowness,  on  the  contrary,  is 
indicative  of  grave  and  serious  moods,  of  thoughts  and 
feelings  worthy  of  long  consideration;  therefore,  of  moods 
of  dignity  and  importance.  In  other  words,  duration  repre- 
sents the  mental  estimate,  or  degree  of  valuation.  What  has 
been  said  hardly  needs  illustration.  Every  one  can  recall 
the  general  difference  in  rapidity  between  ordinary  dance- 
music,  as  it  is  termed,  and  church  music ;  or  between  a  horn- 
pipe and  a  hymn;  and  he  knows,  too,  that  this  difference  is 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  315 

determined  not  alone  by  the  necessity  of  conforming  the 
music  to  actual  outward  movements,  as  in  the  dance,  but 
also  by  the  fact  that  the  dance  and  the  hornpipe  represent, 
by  way  of  association,  joyous,  mirthful,  light,  trifling  moods, 
and  that  the  church  music  and  the  hymn  represent  the 
opposite.  .  .  .  Precisely  the  same  principles  are  fulfilled 
in  poetry. — Idem,  xii. 

It  is  evident  that  in  elocution  duration  may  be  short 
or  long,  or  both;  in  the  latter  case  making  possible  all 
the  artistic  developments  of  metre.  Both  experience  and 
reflection  show  us  that  in  the  degree  in  which  utterances 
are  instinctive,  as  they  are  when  under  the  influence  of 
mere  spontaneity,  they  find  expression  in  short  duration, 
or — what  is  the  same  thing — in  fast  time.  But  when  one 
becomes  conscious  of  surrounding  influences  to  which  he 
must  conform  his  phraseology,  these  put  him  into  a  reflective 
mood,  and  under  the  sway  of  his  impressions,  he  stops  to 
think — sometimes  to  think  twice — of  what  he  is  to  say, 
and  so  uses  slow  time;  or,  to  look  at  the  subject  from  a 
different  view-point,  a  speaker,  when  not  desirous  of 
conveying  to  others  the  impression  that  what  he  is  saying 
demands  their  serious  consideration,  may  talk  rapidly. 
But  when  he  wishes  to  convey  the  opposite  impression — 
that  they  should  weigh  his  statements  with  the  utmost 
care, — he  talks  slowly. — Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art,  iv. 

In  elocution,  quantity  may  sometimes  be  prolonged  at 
will;  in  poetry,  it  is  usually  determined  by  the  letter-sounds 
forming  the  syllable.  The  rule  is,  that  syllables  composed 
of  short  vowel-sounds,  and  of  consonant-sounds  easy  to 
pronounce,  are  short.  ...  A  predominance  of  these  short 
sounds  in  the  style  fits  it  to  represent  comparatively  un- 
important ideas,  .  .  .  and,  also,  things  that  move  rapidly, 

A  predominance,  on  the  contrary,  of  decidedly  long 
vowel-sounds,  or  of  consonant-sounds  difficult  to  pro- 
nounce, makes  the  rhythm  move  slowly,  and  fits  it,  there- 
fore, according  to  the  principles  already  unfolded,  to 
represent  important  ideas,  .  .  .  and,  also,  things  that  move 
slowly. — Idem,  iii. 

REPRESENTATIVE  EFFECTS  IN  EXTENSION  {sCC  also  EMOTION 

OR  soul). 

Not  only  in  painting  and  sculpture,  but  in  architecture 
also,  relatively  large  and  small  extension,  corresponding 


3i6  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

in  this  regard  to  relatively  long  and  short  duration,  have 
inevitable  representative  effects.  Either  by  way  of  associa- 
tion or  of  comparison,  or  of  both,  they  respectively  indicate 
what  is  heavy,  strong,  substantial,  immovable,  important, 
influential,  dignified,  near,  on  the  one  hand;  or  else,  on  the 
other  hand,  what  is  light,  weak,  unsubstantial,  movable, 
unimportant,  uninfluential,  undignified,  remote.  It  is  this 
principle  that  causes  us,  when  looking  at  objects,  to  think 
more  of  a  statue  than  of  a  doll,  more  of  a  cathedral  than  of  a 
cottage,  more  of  the  fingers  on  a  statue  than  of  the  fringe  on 
which,  perhaps,  they  rest,  and  more  of  the  towers  and 
domes  of  a  building  than  of  its  chimneys  and  ventilators. 
The  same  principle  applied  in  connection  with  the  natural 
laws  of  perspective,  causes  us  to  give  more  consideration 
to  the  full-sized  figures  in  the  foreground  of  a  painting 
than  to  the  minute  objects  in  its  background.  If  the 
picture  be  designed  to  interest  us  in  animals,  this  fact  is 
represented  by  large  size  that  brings  them  to  the  front; 
if  in  a  pasture  in  which  they  are  feeding,  by  small  size 
that  sends  them  to  the  rear.  Overbalancing  foliage,  with 
a  cherub's  face  just  visible  in  it,  emphasizes  the  prodigality 
of  inanimate  nature.  A  full-sized  statue,  with  a  few 
flowers  about  it,  emphazies  the  preeminence  of  man. — 
Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as  Representative 
Arts,  III. 

Huge  stones  in  a  doorway,  or  huge  pillars  in  a  porch 
having  heavy  masonry  above  them,  are  so  evidently  neces- 
sary in  order  to  afford  the  needed  physical  support,  that  it 
seems  as  if  the  builder  must  have  chosen  them  instinctively 
rather  than  reflectively.  But  the  light  steel  rods  and  bars 
in  suspension  or  cantilever  bridges  are  so  evidently  indica- 
tive of  the  results  of  experiment  and  contrivance,  that  we 
cannot  avoid  the  impression  that  they  were  determined 
upon  as  the  result  of  reflection.  Often,  however,  the  heavy 
doorway  or  column  may  be  so  carefully  carved,  so  minutely 
divided  by  outlines  into  all  sorts  of  details  of  shape,  that  it 
suggests  not  only  the  physical  but  also  the  mental,  not  only 
the  instinctive  but  also  the  reflective;  and  it  is  then  that,  in 
accordance  with  what  was  said  on  page  ii,  we  have  that 
emotive  manifestation  universally  attributed  to  that  artistic 
development  of  the  technicalities  of  building  which  we  term 
architecture. — Idem,  ii. 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  317 

REPRESENTATIVE   EFFECTS    IN    FORCE,    ACCENT,    LIGHT    AND 
SHADE,  ETC. 

The  next  rhythmical  element  of  expression  to  be  con- 
sidered, is  force.  This  is  to  sounds  what  different  degrees 
of  light  and  shade  are  to  objects  of  sight;  and  is  essential 
to  the  effects  of  rhythm  in  the  same  way  that  shading  is  to 
those  of  proportion.  In  elocution,  no  one  in  feeble  physical 
health  can  manifest  an  excess  of  force,  while,  at  times, 
without  it,  his  delivery  may  be  characterized  by  the  greatest 
amount  of  intelligence  and  soul,  of  thought  and  the  emo- 
tion that  is  connected  with  thought.  For  these  reasons,  it 
seems  right  to  infer  that  force  represents  physique  rather 
than  intellect  or  spiritual  feeling ;  in  other  words,  energy  that 
is  instinctive  and  connected  with  the  physical  nature  rather 
than  anything  that  is  reflective  and  connected  with  the  psy- 
chical.— Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art,  v. 

In  the  arts  of  sound,  especially  in  poetry,  the  effects  of 
force  and  pitch  usually  go  together.  If,  in  a  poetic  foot,  we 
accent  one  syllable,  we  almost  invariably  give  it  a  different 
pitch  from  that  of  the  unaccented  syllable  following  it. 
There  is  the  same  connection  between  the  corresponding 
elements  in  the  arts  of  sight.  When  we  give  more  force 
to  a  color  in  painting  by  increasing  the  effects  of  light  and 
shade,  we  usually  change  the  kind,  or,  what  may  be  termed 
the  pitch,  of  the  color;  and  though  certain  buildings  and 
statues  seem  to  be  devoid  of  color,  we  cannot,  except  by 
using  many  different  kinds  of  it,  make  pictures  which  will 
reproduce  with  absolute  accuracy  such  effects  as  have  just 
been  attributed  to  relative  degrees  of  massiveness  or  of 
energy  of  touch. — Essentials  of  Msthetics,  xiii. 

REPRESENTATIVE  EFFECTS  IN  GESTURES  OF  THE  ARM. 

There  are  three  planes  in  which  the  stroke  of  a  gesture 
may  be  made.  One  is  on  a  level  with  the  breast,  which  is 
the  seat  of  the  motive  or  emotive  nature,  or,  as  we  may  say 
(see  page  12),  of  the  soul.  One  is  below  it,  and  one  is  above 
it.  The  principle  underlying  the  phase  of  thought  repre- 
sented by  the  hand,  when  carried  to  either  of  the  three 
planes,  is  as  follows:  Every  soul  inside  of  a  body  con- 
ceives of  itself  as  the  centre  of  the  universe,  which  the 
horizon  rims,  the  earth  grounds,  and  the  zenith  domes. 
Every  man,  even  the  least  egotistic,  is  compelled  to  think 
that  not  only  the  world  but  the  universe  revolves  around 


3i«  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

himself.  Perhaps  he  is  right — who  knows?  If  God  be 
really  in  that  fourth  dimension  within  us,  and  the  human 
soul  be  really  a  focus  in  which  the  rays  from  earth  and 
heaven  meet  and  blend,  how  far  is  this  from  the  truth? 
But  whether  right  or  wrong,  a  man  cannot  rid  himself  of 
this  conception.  When  he  gestures,  he  cannot  do  other- 
wise than  give  expression  to  it.  His  hands  are  carried  on 
a  level  with  the  breast  to  represent  what  he  conceives  to 
be  on  a  physical,  and  hence,  by  analogy,  a  mental  or 
moral  level  with  himself.  They  move  before  him  to  indi- 
cate that  which  he  really  sees  there,  or  to  refer  ideally  to 
the  truth  or  hope  that  he  anticipates  in  the  future.  They 
move  behind  him  to  indicate  that  which  is  really  behind 
him,  something  that  he  has  abandoned  or  turned  from 
possibly  with  loathing  or  regret;  or  they  may  refer  ideally 
to  a  condition  of  opinion  and  life  beyond  which  he  has 
progressed.  They  move  to  one  side  to  refer  to  some  actual 
physical  presence  there,  or,  ideally,  if  the  gesture  indicate 
exclusion,  to  something  that  is  a  side  issue  from  the 
main  line  of  thought;  possibly  to  some  course  that  is  a 
diversion  from  straightforward  action.  But  if  the  gesture 
indicate  inclusion,  it  refers  to  the  general  and  compre- 
hensive. The  hands  are  carried  below  the  breast  to  repre- 
sent that  which  one  conceives  to  be  physically,  mentally, 
or  morally  below  himself;  i.  e.,  below  his  sight,  compre- 
hension, or  control;  to  indicate  a  pathway,  an  idea  that  he 
can  understand,  a  power  that  he  can  master.  They  are 
carried  above  the  breast  to  represent  that  which  he  conceives 
to  be  physically,  mentally,  or  morally  above  himself; 
above  his  sight,  conception,  or  control;  to  indicate  a  star, 
a  grand  idea,  a  mighty  force. 

In  applying  these  principles,  it  must  always  be  borne  in 
mind  that  the  different  directions  taken  by  the  gesture  repre- 
sent not  what  actually  is,  but  what  a  man  conceives  to 
be.  Most  of  the  published  discussions  of  this  subject  do  not 
sufficiently  emphasize  this  fact.  We  are  told,  for  instance, 
that  good  and  God  must  receive  upward  gestures,  and 
bad  and  the  Devil  downward  gestures.  But  this  depends 
entirely  upon  one's  point  of  view,  upon  his  conception. 
The  expression,  "Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan,"  would 
require  a  downward  and  backward  gesture,  because  the 
speaker  would  conceive  of  Satan  as  below  and  behind  him- 
self morally ;  but  the  expression — 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  319 

There  was  a  Brutus  once  that  would  have  brooked 
The  Eternal  Devil  to  keep  his  state  in  Rome 
As  easily  as  a  king — 

Shakespeare:    Julius  CcBsar^  *.,  2 — 

would  require  an  upward  and  forward  gesture,  because  in 
it  Satan  is  conceived  of  as  a  foe  of  overwhelming  force, 
whom  one  is  facing,  therefore  as  one  physically  above  and 
before  the  speaker,  and  not  by  any  means  below  or  behind 
him. — Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as  Representative 
Arts,  IX. 

REPRESENTATIVE  EFFECTS  IN  GESTURES  OF  THE  HAND. 

The  first,  the  broadest,  roundest  form  that  the  hand  can 
assume,  represents,  as  nearly  as  any  shape  possible  for  it, 
vital  and  physical  emphasis,  i.  e.,  will-power  applied  to  the 
impression  of  ideas.  Just  as  a  fist  threatens  with  a  power 
greater  than  one's  own,  if  held  above  one's  head;  and  with 
one's  own  power,  if  held  on  a  level  with  one's  breast,  so  it 
manifests  strength  of  conviction  and  a  determination  to 
pound  the  truth  into  an  opponent,  if  made  in  connection 
with  a  downward  gesture  of  emphasis. 

Equally  evident  is  the  meaning  of  the  pointing  finger. 
It  is  the  sharpest  form  that  the  hand  can  assume,  and, 
according  to  what  has  been  said,  should  represent  inter- 
pretive mentality.  This  it  undoubtedly  does.  When  we 
point  to  an  object,  we  do  so  not  as  an  exhibition  of  will 
or  emotion,  but  of  thought.  Nor  do  we  wish  others  to  do 
anything  beyond  concentrating  their  thought  upon  it. 
There  are  two  forms  of  the  gesture  with  the  fingers  and 
thumb  unfolded  from  the  palm  .  .  .  namely,  the  closing, 
in  which  the  palm  is  averted,  i.  e.,  turned  away  from  the 
body,  where  the  speaker  cannot  see  it,  and  the  opening,  in 
which  the  position  is  reversed,  where  the  palm  is  held  so  that 
the  speaker  can  see  it.  The  closing  gesture  seems  to  push 
downward,  upward,  backward,  forward,  or  sideward,  as 
if  to  keep  all  external  things  or  thoughts  from  touching  or 
influencing  the  one  who  is  gesturing.  It  seems  to  close 
all  channels  of  communication  between  him  and  the  outside 
world.  The  opening  gesture  seems  prepared  to  give  and 
receive  things  or  thoughts  from  every  quarter;  and  thus  to 
open  these  channels.  Both  gestures,  therefore,  seem  to 
represent  the  motive  or  emotive  attitude.  To  extend  what 
has  been  said,  the  closing  gesture  being  used  to  reject,  to 
ward  off,  to  deny,  what  is  unpleasant,  threatening,  or  un- 


320  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

truthful  is  used  descriptively  to  refer  to  anything  having 
these  characteristics,  to  anything,  therefore,  like  a  storm, 
an  avalanche,  a  disgusting  sight,  a  foe,  or  any  supposed 
source  of  plotting  or  hostility.  For  an  analogous  reason, 
as  applied  to  abstract  thought,  this  gesture  is  used  by  one 
who  is  in  a  mood  to  dogmatize,  to  dictate,  or  to  express  any 
conception,  concerning  which  he  is  not  in  a  condition  to 
receive  suggestions  from  others.  .  .  .  The  youngest  child 
never  points  with  the  palm  up  to  things  that  have  definite 
outlines.  The  palm  is  always  down.  It  is  not  an  open 
question  how  one  shall  conceive  of  a  particular  horse  or 
dog;  and  so  the  closing  gesture  with  the  index  finger  shuts 
out  all  appeal.  The  mind  of  the  speaker  cannot  be  satisfied 
unless  the  hearer  conceives  of  these  objects  just  as  he 
does.  .  .  . 

The  opening  gesture  indicates  exactly  the  opposite. 
Being  used  to  welcome  or  impart  what  is  pleasant,  interest- 
ing, or  important,  it  naturally  refers,  in  a  descriptive 
way,  to  any  thing  or  thought  having  these  characteristics, 
to  anything  conceived  of,  therefore,  as  being  freely  given 
or  received  like  a  gift  or  purchase,  or  like  friendship,  joy, 
knowledge,  prosperity,  or  blessedness.  As  accompanying 
an  expression  of  abstract  thought,  this  gesture  is  in  place 
whenever  one  submits  an  opinion  as  an  open  question  for 
others  to  consider  and  to  decide  as  they  may  deem  fit.  It 
is  the  gesture,  therefore,  of  inquiry,  persuasion,  and  appeal. 
The  pointing  finger,  too,  when  the  palm  is  in  the  position 
of  an  opening  gesture,  does  not  mean  the  same  as  when  it  is 
in  the  position  of  the  closing  gesture.  In  the  former  case 
it  does  not  point  merely  to  definite  objects;  it  points  to  open 
possibilities. — Essentials  of  JEsthetics,  xiii. 

REPRESENTATIVE   EFFECTS   IN   HUMAN   FORMS. 

After  cautioning  the  reader  to  bear  in  mind  that  few 
individual  forms  manifest  the  features  of  any  one  type 
exclusively,  it  will  suffice  to  say  that,  according  to  the  prin- 
ciples of  physiology  and  phrenology,  roundness  of  form  or 
feature,  i.  e.,  curvature,  represents  the  degree  of  vital  or 
physical  power;  that  sharpness,  i.  e.,  angularity,  represents 
the  degree  of  mental  or  interpretive  power ;  and  that  length 
represents  the  degree  of  motive  or  emotive  power,  i.  e. 
the  degree  of  that  self-control  or  lack  of  it  which  is  some- 
times termed  moral  power.  ...  If  we  separate  the  sugges- 


'*  The  Descent  from  the  Cross,"  by  Rubens 
See  pages,  73,  82,  88,  89,  gi,  162,  331,  385 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  321 

tions  of  different  parts  of  the  body,  the  torso  seems  best  to 
represent  the  vital  or  physical;  the  extremities,  especially 
the  head  and  hands,  to  represent  the  mental  or  interpretive, 
as,  for  instance,  in  the  hand-gesture;  and  the  chest, shoulders, 
elbows,  and  knees,  to  represent  the  motive  or  emotive,  as, 
for  instance,  when  one  is  excited  or  embarrassed.  Facial 
expression  seems  based  upon  the  principle  that  the  chin 
and  lower  lip  best  represent  the  vital  or  physical;  the  eye- 
brows and  forehead  best  represent  the  mental  or  inter- 
pretive; and  the  nose  and  eyes  best  represent  the  motive 
or  emotive.  The  movements  of  these  features  to  repre- 
sent particular  conceptions  correspond,  when  the  head 
is  lifted  or  lowered  or  turned  sideways,  to  the  arms;  and 
when  the  countenance  is  contracted,  expanded,  or  drawn 
down,  to  the  hands. — Idem,  xiii. 

REPRESENTATIVE  EFFECTS  IN  HUMAN  POSTURES. 

Now  let  us  consider,  as  related  to  representation,  the 
action  of  a  man's  body.  We  shall  find  that,  in  the  degree 
in  which  his  expression  is  instinctive  in  the  sense  of  being 
spontaneous  and  unconscious,  because  uninfluenced  or 
unimpeded  by  conditions  that  come  from  without,  his  gait, 
postures,  and  gestures  all  tend  to  assume  the  forms  of  free, 
large,  graceful  curves.  But  in  the  degree  in  which  his 
expression  is  reflective,  in  the  sense  of  being  made  responsive 
and  calculating  in  order  to  meet  conditions  from  without, 
especially  in  the  degree  in  which  these  conditions  check, 
impede,  and  embarrass  him,  and  make  him  conscious  of 
this  fact,  or  self-conscious,  as  we  say, — in  this  degree  we 
shall  find  that  his  bearing  is  stiff,  constrained,  and  awkward, 
imparting  to  all  his  movements  a  tendency  to  assume  the 
forms  of  straight  lines  and  angles.  Both  these  extremes 
are  emotive,  as  is  all  human  expression;  but  sharp  angles  and 
short  curves  will  give  way  to  straighter  lines  and  longer 
curves  in  the  degree  in  which  outside  conditions  do  not 
wholly  overcome  a  man's  spontaneity,  but  cause  him  to 
make  his  instinctive  promptings  reflective,  as  in  exerting 
the  moral  influence  of  confident  assertion,  or  enthusiastic 
persuasion.  But  angles  will  predominate  in  the  degree 
in  which  he  is  conscious  of  interference,  as  in  supposed 
opposition,  whether  this  be  mental,  or  material  or  both 
together,  as  in  fighting.  The  latter  condition  will  double 
up  his  frame  and  throw  his  neck,  elbows,  knees,  and  hips 

2X 


322  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

into  shapes  that  will  make  his  form  the  best  possible  repre- 
sentation of  what  can  be  described  by  only  the  term  angu- 
larity; yet  from  this  appearance  in  such  cases,  curves  are 
never  entirely  absent. 

REPRESENTATIVE  EFFECTS  IN  NATURAL  OUTLINES. 

So  much  for  the  meaning  of  outlines  assumed  by  the 
body.  Now  let  us  notice  how,  as  manifested  not  in  the 
human  form  but  in  the  inanimate  appearances  of  nature 
surrounding  it,  similar  outlines  are  fitted  to  represent,  and 
so  to  awaken,  corresponding  conceptions  in  the  mind  of  the 
spectator.  The  curve  has  been  ascribed  to  the  instinctive, 
or,  as  we  may  term  it,  the  physically  normal  action  of  the 
human  form.  Is  there  any  truth  in  the  supposition  that 
similar  appearances  external  to  man  may  be  ascribed  to 
sources  similar  in  character?  Why  should  there  not  be? 
The  eye  itself  is  circular,  and  the  field  of  vision  which  it 
views,  at  any  one  moment,  always  appears  to  be  the  same. 
So  does  the  horizon  and  the  zenith,  and  so,  too,  do  most  of  the 
objects  that  they  contain — the  heaving  mountain,  the  rising 
smoke  or  vapor,  the  rolling  wave,  the  gushing  fountain,  the 
rippling  stream,  even  the  bubbles  of  its  water  and  the 
pebbles  of  its  channel,  and  everj'-  tree,  plant,  and  animal, 
whether  at  rest  or  in  motion.  For  this  reason,  curves, 
wherever  seen,  necessarily  suggest  more  or  less  of  that 
which  is  normal,  or,  as  applied  to  natural  animate  life,  of 
that  which  has  the  buoyancy,  freedom,  and  joyousness 
which  we  instinctively  associate  with  the  possession  of  this. 

The  straight  line  with  its  accompanying  angles  we  have 
found  to  be  produced  by  a  man  chiefly  as  a  result  of  the 
reflective  action  of  his  mind.  How  is  it  with  similar  effects 
in  the  appearances  surrounding  him?  Do  not  rectangles 
with  their  straight,  parallel  sides,  as  in  buildings  and  in  so 
many  other  objects  made  by  men,  invariably  suggest 
results  of  construction,  and,  therefore,  of  reflection  expended 
upon  them?  Nor  are  such  suggestions  confined  to  objects 
with  reference  to  which  a  man's  interference  with  the 
normal  action  of  nature  is  unmistakable.  By  way  of 
association,  the  horizontal  hilltop,  the  sharply  perpendicular 
cliff,  the  pointed  peak,  cause  us  to  think  and  often  to  say 
that  they  look  precisely  as  if  a  man  had  been  at  work  upon 
them,  leveling  or  blasting.  Few  natural  objects,  indeed, 
have  outlines  absolutely  straight  or  angular;  but  always,  in 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  323 

the  degree  in  which  they  are  so,  the  impression  naturally 
produced  by  curves,  which  is  that  of  a  growth  outward 
from  normal  vitality  within,  is  lessened.  We  feel  that  life 
has  in  some  way  been  literally  blasted.  As  a  rule,  it  is  the 
great  convulsions  of  nature,  whether  produced  by  fire,  frost, 
wind,  or  earthquake,  that  leave  behind  them,  if  their  pro- 
gress can  be  traced  at  all,  such  results  of  crystallizing, 
cracking,  and  rending,  as  are  manifested  in  straight  lines 
and  angles.  No  wonder,  therefore,  that  wherever  seen  they 
are  associated  in  our  minds  with  the  work  of  extraneous  force 
acting  upon  the  forms  from  the  outside,  as  the  volcano  does 
when  it  rends  the  rocks  and  throws  the  lava  through  and 
over  them,  and  as  the  tempest  does,  when  it  bends  the  trees 
and  tears  off  their  branches. 

Now  let  us  consider  the  possibilities  of  emotive  effects 
between  these  two  extremes  of  form.  When,  notwith- 
standing curves  or  angles,  the  general  appearance  of  a 
shape  approximates  that  of  straight,  parallel  lines,  it  must 
be  then  that  the  appearance  is  most  suggestive  of  reflective 
influences.  This  being  so,  in  the  degree  in  which  the  lines 
are  long  and  absolutely  straight,  they  must  suggest  reflec- 
tion or  thought  of  the  most  unchanging  as  well  as  distinctive 
character,  as  in  persistence,  seriousness,  or  dignity.  Now 
notice  that  these  straight  lines  may  tend  to  be  either  hori- 
zontal or  vertical.  Does  it  require  any  argument  to  show 
that,  if  horizontal,  they  are  suggestive  of  persistence, 
seriousness,  or  dignity  in  repose,  and,  if  vertical,  of  the  same 
in  activity.  What  is  so  firmly  fixed  in  position  as  a  long 
straight  beam,  lying  fiat  on  the  ground ;  and  what  is  so  hard 
to  get  or  easy  to  keep  in  position  as  the  same  placed  verti- 
cally? It  is  strictly  in  accordance  with  the  principle  of 
correspondence,  therefore,  that  the  former  should  represent 
restfulness,  and  the  latter  difficulty  overcome  by  effort, 
and,  if  through  human  agency,  by  human  effort,  or  by  that 
in  the  soul  which  makes  the  effort  possible.  For  this 
reason,  therefore,  as  well  as  because,  by  pointing  upward, 
it  carries  the  thought  upward  (which  is  the  ordinary  way 
of  explaining  the  effect),  the  vertical  line  may  be  said  to 
represent  aspiration  and  elevation  of  aim.  Of  course,  too, 
because  composed  of  lines  very  nearly  vertical,  sharp  angles 
pointing  upward,  as  in  Gothic  window-caps  and  spires, 
represent  the  same.  Observe,  too,  how  in  this  architectural 
style  the  parallelism  of  the  vertical  lines  repeats  and  em- 


324  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

phasizes  the  emotive  effect  due  to  their  directions,  and 
augments  it  by  regularity. 

Curves  and  angles,  when  their  lines  are  greatly  broken, 
suggest  the  changing  and  transient,  and  also,  when  crossed, 
the  complex.  Because  complex,  they  are  perplexing;  and 
provided  they  are  nevertheless  disposed  in  such  ways  as 
to  render  the  fact  of  some  design  indisputable,  they  are 
exciting,  as  far  as  lines  can  be  so,  to  the  imagination,  con- 
stantly stimulating  it,  as  they  do,  to  solve  the  mystery  of 
their  mode  of  arrangement.  Such  being  their  effects,  one 
would  expect  to  find  the  natural  forms  characterized  by 
them  proving  more  exciting  to  the  emotions  than  those 
already  considered.  And  when  we  examine  the  appear- 
ances about  us,  is  not  this  exactly  what  we  do  find?  Is 
it  not  when  complicated  curves  and  angles  outline  natural 
trifles  that  they  fascinate  and  make  men  imitate  them  in 
their  curios?  Is  it  not  when  curves,  straight  lines,  and 
angles  join  in  natural  forms  of  grander  import,  when  the 
tree  and  bush  are  wreathed  about  the  precipice,  when 
the  dome-like  mountain  and  the  rolling  cloud  lift  above 
the  sharp  peak  and  cloven  crag,  and  far  below  them  lies  the 
flat  plain  or  lake, — is  it  not  then,  in  connection  with  such 
combinations,  that  the  most  exciting  appeal  is  made  through 
the  emotions  to  the  imagination  ? 

That  the  facts  are  as  here  suggested,  will  be  evident  to 
any  one  who  will  make  a  careful  study  of  the  subtle  effects 
upon  the  mind  of  different  scenes  in  nature,  and  of  the 
imitations  of  them  in  art.  In  this  place  a  good  way, 
perhaps,  of  discovering  the  representative  capabilities  of 
these  different  appearances,  is  to  recall  the  use  that  is  made 
of  them  by  the  landscape  gardener.  Is  it  not  a  fact  that, 
in  case  he  desire  to  direct  attention  to  the  beauty  of  nature  in 
itself,  i.  e.,  to  the  capabilities  of  nature  with  the  least  possible 
suggestion  of  the  intervention  of  a  human  mind, — that  in 
this  case  his  plans  will  develop  into  gradually  rising  mounds 
and  circuitous  drives,  winding  among  trees  and  shrubs 
planted  in  clusters  but  not  in  rows?  On  the  contrary,  if  he 
desire  to  produce  a  distinctly  different  impression,  causing 
thought  to  revert  from  nature  to  man,  either  to  the  artist 
who  has  arranged  things  as  they  are,  or  to  the  resident  or 
visitor  for  whose  convenience  or  guidance  they  have  been 
so  arranged,  then  will  he  not  plan  for  distinctly  different 
effects,  as  in  the  long  avenue  bordered  with  its  rows  of 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  325 

trees,  or  in  the  terrace,  or  the  hedge,  or  the  flower  garden 
with  straight  and  rectangular  pathways?  Or,  once  more,  if 
he  desire  to  produce  more  emotional  impressions  by  means 
of  which  the  observer  may  be  drawn  more  into  sympathy 
with  his  designs  and  the  ingenuity  of  them,  will  he  not 
make  more  use  of  variety  and  contrast,  combining  the 
winding  walks  of  the  ramble  with  sharp  angles,  perpen- 
dicular rocks  with  rounded  moss  banks,  or  shooting  cata- 
racts with  still  pools? 

Is  it  strange  that  similar  principles  should  apply  to 
painting  and  sculpture?  They  are  equally  applicable 
when  constructing  buildings.  The  most  ordinarily  accepted 
classification  made  of  the  different  styles  of  these  is  accord- 
ing to  their  bridging  of  openings  or  spaces  by  straight  lines, 
curves,  or  angles,  which  three  methods  are  supposed  to 
indicate  the  differences  between  the  architecture  of  the 
Greek  horizontal  entablature,  of  the  Byzantine  or  Roman- 
esque round  arch,  and  of  the  Gothic  pointed  arch.  But 
notice  that  straight  lines  abound  in  all  these  forms,  the 
horizontal  ones  in  Greek  architecture  being  no  more  promi- 
nent than  the  vertical  ones  in  Gothic  architecture.  It  is 
well  to  observe,  too,  that  of  all  architecture  appealing  to 
the  emotions  the  latter  does  this  in  the  most  powerfully 
effective  way,  for  the  reason  not  often  noticed  that  in  it 
alone  is  it  possible  to  blend  all  the  possibilities  of  outline. 
Sometimes  there  are  no  curved  forms  at  all  in  Greek  build- 
ings. Sometimes,  too,  there  are  no  sharp  forms  in  Byzan- 
tine or  the  allied  Romanesque  buildings.  But  in  Gothic 
buildings  there  is  invariably  a  blending  of  both.  More- 
over, as  if  also  to  emphasize  the  existence  of  each,  both  are 
developed  to  excess,  the  curves  being  made  particularly 
round  and  the  angles  particularly  sharp. 

Now  what  is  the  architectural  significance  of  a  predomi- 
nance of  each  of  these  methods  of  bringing  outlines  to- 
gether, namely,  through  curves,  through  angles,  or  through 
both  in  combination?  Is  this  difficult  to  determine?  To 
begin  with,  what  is  the  shape  most  instinctively  produced 
by  the  creatures  below  man,  when  they  indulge  in  con- 
struction? What  is  the  shape  of  ant-hills,  birds*  nests,  or 
beavers*  dams?  What  is  the  shape  of  that  which  a  man 
constructs  in  the  forest  when  he  breaks  off  the  limbs  of 
the  trees,  and,  binding  them  together,  builds  himself 
something  in  which  to  sleep?    Rounded,  curved,  is  it  not? 


326  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

The  huts  represented  in  Chapter  XX.  of  this  book  are  all 
symmetrical,  and  so  would  be  recognized  at  once  as  pro- 
ducts of  man;  but  which  of  them  should  we  be  most  likely 
to  imagine  to  have  been  constructed  by  some  more  intelli- 
gent animal?  ....  The  same  principle  holds  good  with 
reference  to  buildings  of  a  more  elaborate  character; 
though  it  must  not  be  overlooked  that,  in  the  degree  in 
which  any  forms  are  artificially  elaborated  they  come  to 
have  complex  and  therefore  (see  page  ii)  stronger  emotive 
effects.  But,  as  applied  to  the  predominating  or  germinal 
shapes  in  such  buildings,  is  it  not  true  that  the  impression 
conveyed  by  any  rounded  arch,  as  in  a  bridge  for  instance, 
is  that  the  small  stones  available  have  been  made  to  span 
the  space  under  it  in  accordance  with  a  natural  law  which 
needs  only  to  be  perceived  by  the  builder  in  order  to  be 
instinctively  fulfilled  by  him?  And  if  this  be  so,  is  it  not 
logical  to  infer  that  all  such  forms  can  cause  one  to  asso- 
ciate their  appearance  with  a  fulfilment  of  natural  law? 
Do  not  their  curved  outlines  make  Figs.  40  and  43  look  as 
if,  according  to  natural  law,  they  grew  into  shape  in  a  sense 
not  true  of  Fig.  42?  Possibly,  therefore,  there  is  a  reason 
why  rounded  doorways  and  bending  domes  should  have 
seemed  to  so  many  in  so  many  different  lands  appropriate 
to  represent  not  only,  as  stated  on  page  38,  a  place  in  which 
crowds  are  expected  to  gather,  but  also  a  centre  from  which 
emanates  the  authority  of  law,  either  civil,  as  from  a  state 
capitol  or  courthouse,  or  spiritual,  as  from  a  cathedral. 

Again  when  we  find  buildings  showing  no  such  desire 
to  accommodate  the  methods  of  construction  to  the  re- 
quirements of  natural  law,  as  is  apparent  in  the  round 
arch,  but  rather  a  determination,  on  the  part  of  a  man,  to 
erect  something  designed  by  himself  without  any  special 
regard  for  these  requirements,  as  is  the  case  wherever  we 
see  a  predominance  of  straight  lines  and  angles,  then  is  it 
not  true  that  the  impression  mainly  conveyed  is  that  of  a 
form  due  to  human  reflection  ?  Moreover,  if,  in  connection 
with  this  general  impression,  the  predominating  lines  be 
horizontal,  and  the  angles  flat,  so  as  to  produce,  so  far  as 
angles  can,  an  effect  of  horizontality,  is  it  not  true  that, 
combined  with  the  seriousness  and  dignity  suggested  by 
straight  lines,  they  represent  repose?  ...  If,  on  the  con- 
trary, the  predominating  lines  be  vertical,  and  the  angles, 
by  being  sharp,  aid  the  effect  of  verticality,  is  it  not  true 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  327 

that, "combined  with  the  seriousness  and  dignity  suggested 
by  straight  lines,  they  represent  elevation  of  soul  or  aspira- 
tion? 

Once  more,  when  we  look  at  buildings  in  which  the 
curves  as  well  as  straight  lines  are  prominent,  or  in  which 
curves,  straight  lines,  and  angles,  all  three,  are  prominent, 
can  we  not  perceive  a  more  aesthetic  emotive  effect  than  in  a 
building  in  which  the  curves  are  greatly  subordinated? 
And  in  buildings  in  which  either  curves,  angles,  or  straight 
lines  are  combined  in  excess  of  what  are  needed,  as  is  often 
the  case  in  both  Greek  and  Gothic  architecture,  where 
columns,  entablatures,  or  arches,  are  introduced  and  are  all 
shaped  alike  evidently  for  the  purpose  of  ornament  alone, 
and  to  enhance,  by  way  of  correspondence,  the  appearance 
of  artistic  unity,  then  is  it  not  true  that  the  forms  represent 
a  special  appeal  to  the  aesthetic  emotions? — Painting, 
Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,  v. 

REPRESENTATIVE  EFFECTS  OF  COLOR  AS  INFLUENCED  BY 

LIGHT  (^see  also  color  as  perceived  by  the  eye 
and  HARMONY  OF  color). 
Let  us  notice  now  the  representative  possibilities  of  color. 
We  can  best  come  to  understand  these  by  considering  what 
color  represents  in  extreme  cases.  When  there  is  no  light 
there  is  no  color.  When  there  is  little  light,  we  can  see 
forms,  but  not  colors,  except  as  they  seem  to  be  very  dim 
and  dark.  In  this  condition,  the  mind  is  not  greatly  inter- 
ested in  them  nor  aroused  to  thought  by  them ;  so  far  as  they 
affect  the  appearance  of  nature,  they  are  not,  as  a  rule, 
satisfactory,  interesting,  cheering,  or  inspiring,  but,  on 
the  contrary,  they  sometimes  cause  depression  and  even 
solicitude.  With  more  light,  however,  the  outlines  and 
colors  become  more  visible,  bright,  and  varied;  and  not 
only  the  satisfaction  but  the  excitation  derivable  from 
them  is  increased?  These  effects  continue  to  be  enhanced 
up  to  the  time,  if  it  ever  arrive,  when  the  colors  are  no 
longer  distinguishable,  for  the  reason  that  the  light  has 
become  too  dazzling.  But  at  this  point  the  disagree- 
ableness  of  the  effect  is  produced,  not  because  attention 
is  aroused  too  slightly,  but  too  greatly,  as,  for  instance, 
by  the  direct  rays  of  the  sun  or  by  a  flash  of  lightning.  In 
all  cases,  however,  even  in  these  last,  notice  the  additional 
excitation  to  the  emotions  produced  by  variety.     Sunlight 


328  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

or  lightning  is  never  so  vivid  as  when  made  to  contrast 
sharply  with  absolute  darkness,  as  in  a  cave  or  a  cloud. 
Nor  is  a  bright  red  or  yellow  ever  so  effective  as  when 
placed  directly  against  a  dull  blue-green  or  indigo.  We 
may  say,  therefore,  that,  as  a  rule,  dark  colors — or  shades 
of  them  which  result  when  the  colors  as  determined  by  the 
spectrum,  are  mixed  with  black — as  also  unvarying  colors, 
are  less  exciting  to  the  emotions  than  are  bright  and  varied 
ones. — Essentials  of  /Esthetics,  xiii. 

REPRESENTATIVE  EFFECTS  OF  COLORS  (sce  olso  REPRESENTA- 
TIVE EFFECTS  OF  TONES). 

For  the  purpose  not  merely  of  indicating  the  unity  of 
method  in  different  parts  of  this  system,  but  also  for  the 
purpose  of  accomplishing  that  for  which  this  unity  of 
method  is  intended  to  be  serviceable,  it  seems  well  in  this 
place  to  try  to  interpret  the  meanings  of  the  colors  through 
what  we  know  of  the  meanings  of  the  different  elocutionary, 
musical,  or  poetic  tones.  Of  these  tones,  the  normal  and 
orotund  are  musical  and  unmixed.  It  will  be  shown  pres- 
ently that  the  two,  respectively,  correspond  to  the  cold 
and  the  warm  colors.  .  .  . 

We  will  take  up,  first,  the  distinction  between  the 
normal — sometimes  called  the  pure — tone  and  the  oro- 
tund. In  elocution,  the  former  is  not  necessarily  a  culti- 
vated tone,  but  the  latter,  the  orotund,  is.  The  former 
therefore  suggests  the  natural,  and  the  latter  the  artistic. 
Is  not  the  same  true  with  reference  to  the  classes  of  color 
to  which  these  have  been  said  to  correspond?  Just  as 
the  normal  tone  is  that  of  ordinary  natural  intercourse, 
are  not  the  cold  colors,  the  greens,  blues,  and  purples, 
those  of  ordinary  natural  life?  Is  it  not  true  that  for 
nine-tenths  of  all  the  time,  nine-tenths  of  all  the  surfaces 
of  the  globe — i.  e.,  the  lakes,  skies,  hills,  forests,  fields, 
rocks,  distant  and  near — are  robed  in  these  colors?  The 
warmer  colors,  the  reds,  oranges,  and  yellows,  appear 
occasionally  in  nature  in  the  sunset  sky,  the  autumn  foliage, 
the  hues  of  flowers,  the  plumage  of  birds,  and  the  coating 
of  animals;  but  it  is  remarkable  how  seldom  they  appear 
at  all,  how  little  surface,  comparatively,  they  cover  when 
they  do  appear,  how  infrequently  they  appear  in  their 
full  intensity,  and  how  universally,  when  they  do  appear 
in  this,   they  are  considered  exceptional  and  worthy  of 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  329 

remark.  They  certainly  are  not  nature's  normal  colors. 
Man  cannot  dye  anything  bluer  or  greener  than  he  can 
often  see  in  the  sea  and  sky  and  forest;  but  nowhere 
in  the  world  can  he  raise  a  red  or  orange  flag  that  will 
not  instantly  be  recognized  as  something  different  from 
anything  in  nature,  and,  therefore,  as  something  that  is 
signaling  the  presence  of  man.  Hence  the  use  of  these 
colors,  especially  of  red,  by  surveying  parties,  and  on 
railways,  piers,  and  battle-fields.  Such  colors  are  the 
ones  that  are  most  suggestive  of  human  interference.  As 
used  in  art,  therefore,  they  are  the  colors  representing  the 
condition  upon  which  the  thought  and  feeling  of  the  artist 
have  had  the  greatest  influence. 

With  these  facts,  however,  we  need  also  to  bear  in  mind 
that  which  is  a  logical  inference  from  what  was  said  on 
page  254,  namely,  that  all  very  low  and  uniform  shades, 
even  if  of  yellows,  oranges,  and  reds,  have  a  quieting 
effect,  and  all  very  high  and — because  contrasts  emphasize 
one  another,  and  most  contrasts  of  cold  colors  are  warm 
— all  contrasting  tints,  even  if  of  purples,  blues,  and  greens, 
have  an  exciting  effect.  To  compare  these  conditions 
with  those  of  pitch  in  elocution  and  music,  this,  if  low  and 
monotonous,  indicates  what  is  serious,  grave,  dignified, 
and  self-controlled,  and,  if  high  and  varied,  the  opposite. 
Does  it  require  an  argument  to  show  how  perfectly  these 
analogies  are  carried  out  as  applied  to  colors?  Do  we  not 
all  recognize  the  more  exciting  and  exhilarating  effects 
of  these  when  full  of  brightness,  and  also,  in  connection 
with  this,  of  contrast?  Who  has  not  noticed  the  difference 
in  influence  between  a  lawn  and  a  fiower-bed?  or  between 
a  room  decorated  with  evergreens  and  the  same  decorated 
with  chrysanthemums?  or  between  a  uniformly  clouded 
gray  sky,  and  a  sky  lighted  up  with  the  diversified  glories  of 
the  sunset?  or  between  the  dulness  and  monotony  of  a 
business  street  when  the  shop-entrances  are  hung  with 
dingy  clothing  for  sale,  or  the  sidewalks  filled  with  people 
in  dark  business  suits,  and  the  same  streets  when  hung  with 
bright  and  varied  flags  on  a  gala  day,  or  crowded  with 
throngs  decked  out  in  the  gay  and  checkered  trappings  of 
a  carnival  or  holiday  parade?  Of  course,  uniformity  of 
color,  like  uniformity  of  outline — as  in  parallelism, — pro- 
duces a  certain  seriousness  and  dignity  of  effect;  and  any 
procession,  the  members  of  which  are  dressed  alike  and 


33©  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

march~alike,  will  produce  something  of  these  irrespective 
of  the  quality  of  the  coloring.  But  there  is  a  vast  difference 
between  the  degree  of  seriousness  and  dignity  in  the  effect 
of  a  procession  of  priests  and  nuns  robed  in  black  or  gray  in  a 
funeral  or  at  church,  and  in  that  of  militia  uniformed  in 
bright  colors  on  a  holiday  or  in  a  theatre.  In  the  latter  case, 
it  is  impossible  to  conceive  that  any  child,  or  a  crowd  of  any 
kind,  should  require  explanation,  aside  from  those  suggested 
by  color  alone,  to  arouse  them  to  excitement  and  enthusi- 
asm. There  was  philosophy  as  well  as  fancy,  therefore,  un- 
derlying the  former  use  of  red  in  the  costumes  of  soldiers. 
Nothing  in  the  way  of  color  can  surpass  red  in  effective- 
ness. This  fact  has  been  explained  according  to  the  prin- 
ciple of  association.  It  has  been  said  that  red  is  the  color 
of  blood  and  of  fire,  and  suggests  them.  But  does  it  sug- 
gest them  to  the  bull  and  other  animals  whom  it  excites 
to  fury?  In  these  cases  does  it  not  act  physically?  Physi- 
cists agree  that  there  is  no  color  that  agitates  the  optic 
nerve  so  violently.  There  seem  to  be,  therefore,  just  as 
in  the  case  of  outlines,  principles  both  of  association  and 
of  nature  which  cause  certain  colors,  and,  to  a  less  degree, 
all  colors,  when  at  their  brightest,  to  be  representative  of 
emotive  excitation,  and  certain  other  colors,  and,  to  a  less 
degree,  all  colors  in  their  lower  tones,  to  be  representative 
of  the  opposite. 

All  the  great  facts  of  nature  are  felt  long  before  they 
are  formulated.  When  the  man  born  blind  expressed  his 
conception  of  the  color  red  by  saying  that  it  was  like  the 
sound  of  a  trumpet,  he  uttered  not  a  poetic  but  a  literal 
truth.  Just  as  red  is  the  color  that  is  farthest  removed 
from  the  ordinary  colors  of  nature,  the  blast  of  the  trum- 
pet is  the  sound  that  is  farthest  removed  from  the  ordinary 
sounds  of  nature.  All  pastoral  symphonies  abound  in 
passages  executed  by  the  flutes  and  clarionets,  and  the 
violins  and  other  stringed  instruments.  With  the  music 
produced  by  these,  it  seems  natural  to  associate  the  sounds 
produced  by  the  sighing  and  whistling  of  the  wind,  the 
rushing  and  dashing  of  the  waters,  and  the  occasional 
piping  of  a  bird  and  the  lowing  of  an  animal.  The  drum  and 
cymbal,  too,  may  remind  one  of  the  exceptional  thunder 
of  the  storm,  or  the  roll  of  the  earthquake.  But  when  the 
flutes  and  stringed  instruments  give  way  to  the  trumpet 
and  allied  instruments,  then  we  feel  that  man  is  asserting 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  33i 

his  influence  in  the  scene,  and  we  listen,  almost  instinc- 
tively, for  the  sound  of  his  tramping  feet.  It  is  only  man 
that  marches.  It  is  only  man  that  wages  war,  and  it  is 
only  in  martial  music  and  in  the  expression  of  the  passion 
of  conflict  and  the  pride  of  triumph  that  the  blasts  of  the 
trumpet,  announcing,  as  they  do,  more  distinctively  than 
any  other  musical  sounds,  the  power  and  presence  of  the 
human  being,  realize  to  the  full  their  representative  mis- 
sion. No  wonder  that  even  a  blind  man,  at  the  end  of  the 
play,  just  as  the  curtain  drops  on  the  victorious  conquerors, 
should  be  able  to  imagine  how  there  should  be  an  aesthetic 
connection  between  the  brilliant  climax  that  is  heard  and 
the  brilliant  colors  in  the  costumes  and  flags  which  are 
described  to  him  as  surrounding  these  conquerors  and 
waving  above  them. 

The  same  principles  must  apply,  of  course,  to  the  sig- 
nificance of  color  as  used  in  painting  and  architecture. 
In  the  ordinary  portraits  of  great  men,  in  such  paintings 
as  Raphael's  "School  of  Athens,"  the  seriousness  and 
dignity  of  the  subjects  are  such  that  we  do  not  feel  the 
need  in  the  pigments  of  much  brightness  or  contrast.  But 
whenever  anything  is  intended  to  produce,  primarily,  a 
powerful  impression,  whether  gay  or  grave  in  tendency, 
the  contrary  is  sometimes  true.  Hence  one  reason  why 
Rubens  with  his  high  and  varied  coloring  is  so  transcen- 
dency great  in  such  representations  of  profound  excitement 
as  in  the  "Lion  Hunt"  and  "The  Descent  from  the  Cross," 
and  is  so  correspondingly  gross  in  subjects  of  a  lighter  char- 
acter, as  in  some  of  those  in  the  Old  Pinakothek  at  Munich. 

But  there  is  another  reason  for  this  fact,  and,  in  connec- 
tion with  it,  there  is  another  confirmation  of  the  general 
truth  of  the  statements  just  made.  It  may  be  recognized 
by  noticing  the  effects  produced  by  colors  upon  pictures 
of  the  human  countenance.  So  far  as  this  latter  is  more 
than  a  mass  of  lifeless  flesh,  so  far  as  it  is  something  fitted 
to  be  transfused  and  transfigured  by  the  seriousness  of 
intelligence  and  the  dignity  of  spirituality,  is  there  any 
doubt  that  it  should  be  represented  in  colors  neither  very 
brilliant  nor  greatly  varied?  May  there  not  be  a  sense  in 
which  it  is  a  literal  fact  that  the  blue  veins  of  the  aristocrat 
are  far  more  suggestive  of  sentiment  and  soul  behind  them, 
not  only  than  the  bloated  flush  of  the  inebriate,  but  even 
than  the  ruddy  hues  of  the  peasant  ?  .  .   . 


332  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

So,  too,  in  sculpture.  Is  it  not  universally  recognized 
that  statues  of  dark  gray,  blue,  or  black  marble,  granite, 
or  bronze,  as  in  the  case  of  some  of  the  Egyptian  remains, 
while  fitted  for  subjects  presented  in  proportions  suf- 
ficiently large  to  secure  great  seriousness  and  dignity  of 
effect,  are  much  less  appropriate  than  pure  white  marble 
for  subjects  of  the  same  general  character  when  presented 
in  the  proportions  of  life  ?  And  is  it  not  equally  true  that 
subjects  of  a  lighter  character  and  smaller  size  are  far  more 
appropriately  represented  in  the  warmer-colored  bronzes? 

In  architecture,  outHne  has  usually  more  to  do  with 
effects  than  has  color.  Yet  here,  too,  few  fail  to  recognize 
the  influence  of  the  latter.  Who  can  be  insensible  to  the 
congruity  between  the  seriousness,  gravity,  and  dignity 
of  impression  produced  by  blue  shades  of  gray  or  even  of 
white,  as  they  loom  before  us  in  the  outlines  of  the  cathedral, 
or  of  the  large  public  edifice?  But  who  finds  it  agreeable 
to  have  the  same  conceptions  associated  with  buildings 
designed  for  domestic  purposes?  Observe  how  cold,  as 
we  very  appropriately  say,  and  therefore  how  devoid  of 
that  which  is  homelike  and  inviting,  is  the  impression  some- 
times produced  by  the  blue-gray  or  white  of  a  mansion,  as 
contrasted  with  the  appearance  of  a  house  constructed  of 
material  in  which  there  is  a  more  liberal  admixture  of  the 
warm  hues,  as  in  stone  or  brick  of  a  yellow,  orange,  or  brown 
shade.  And  what  of  the  warm  colors  when  used  with 
contrasts?  Is  there  any  one  who  is  not  conscious  of  the 
joyous,  gay,  and  exhilarating  suggestions  imparted  by  the 
bright  and  varied  tints  that  invite  one  to  the  pavilion  of 
the  park  or  the  veranda  of  the  seaside  cottage  ?  The  same 
principle,  of  course,  is  exemplified  in  interiors.  Cold  colors 
on  the  walls,  an  exclusive  or  excessive  use  of  blue,  or  of 
green,  will  always  affect  the  sensitive  like  the  clouds  of  a 
lowery  day,  while  the  warmer  colors,  used  either  wholly  or 
in  part,  will  correspondingly  enliven  them.  No  one  can 
deny  the  impressiveness  of  the  gray  of  the  stone  arches 
that  bend  over  the  "dim  religious  light"  of  the  church. 
But  even  the  effect  of  this  needs  to  be  counteracted  by 
warm  colors  in  the  chancel;  and  would  be  wholly  out  of 
place  in  a  theatre. — The  Essentials  of  Esthetics,  xiii. 

REPRESENTATIVE  EFFECTS  OF  COLORS  WHEN  MIXED. 

Now  let  us  consider  the  mixed  as  distinguished  from  the 
pure  colors.     Going  back,  for  a  moment,  co  mixed  tones^ 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  333 

the  first  of  them  that  was  mentioned  was  the  aspirate. 
This,  as  was  said,  is  a  whisper,  and  its  characteristic  is  an 
absence  of  any  tone  whatever.  Of  course,  that  which,  in 
the  realm  of  color,  corresponds  to  an  absence  of  tone 
must  be,  according  to  its  degree  of  intensity,  black  or 
white,  or  else  some  gray  quality  formed  by  mixing  the 
two.  The  whisper,  in  its  forcible  form,  the  analogue  of 
which,  in  the  realm  of  sight,  would  be  black,  indicates 
apprehension,  as  in  fright;  and  in  its  weaker  form,  the 
analogue  of  which,  in  the  realm  of  sight,  would  be  white, 
indicates  interest,  as  in  the  secrecy  of  a  love-scene.  In 
both  forms  the  whisper  adds  feeling  to  the  tone,  which,  as 
a  rule,  is  usually  uttered,  if  not  simultaneously  with  it,  at 
least  before  or  after  it.  This  tone,  of  course,  considered 
irrespective  of  the  whisper  that  is  joined  with  it,  must 
resemble  either  the  normal  or  the  orotund.  If  it  resemble 
the  normal,  the  forcible  whisper  causes  it  to  have  that  pas- 
sive effect  of  apprehension  characterizing  the  expressions  of 
awe  and  horror  represented  in  the  mixed  quality  which 
is  termed  pectoral.  If  the  tone  resemble  the  orotund,  the 
forcible  whisper  causes  it  to  have  that  active  effect  of 
apprehension  characterizing  the  expression  of  hostility 
represented  in  the  mixed  quality  which  is  termed  guttural. 

In  the  realm  of  sight,  nothing  could  be  perceived  if 
everything  were  absolutely  black.  Black,  therefore,  as 
well  as  white,  must  always  be  blended  with  other  shades. 
When  blended  thus,  the  effect  of  being  side  by  side  is 
much  the  same  as  of  actual  mixture.  At  a  slight  distance, 
we  cannot  tell  whether  the  appearance  is  owing  to  the 
latter  or  merely  to  the  fact  that  two  shades  happen  to  be 
near  together.  Now  bearing  this  in  mind  we  may  say 
that  the  effect  of  black,  when  blended  with  the  cold  colors, 
corresponds  to  that  of  pectoral  quality,  and,  when  blended 
with  the  warm  colors,  corresponds  to  that  of  guttural 
quality. 

Notice,  first,  the  combinations  of  black  with  the  cold 
colors.  In  such  cases  the  black,  of  course,  must  be  very 
prominent,  and,  merely  to  render  the  objects  depicted 
clearly  perceptible,  it  must  be  offset  in  some  places  by 
cold  colors  of  comparatively  light  tints.  But  where  light 
tints  are  blended  with  absolute  black,  there  must  be  some 
violent  contrasts.  Violent  contrasts  of  themselves,  as 
shown    on    page    194,    represent    excitation.     Excitation, 


334  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

however,  in  connection  with  blackness, — to  go  back  to 
what  was  said,  on  page  193,  of  the  effects  of  Hght  from 
which  we  have  developed  those  of  pigments — ^is  excita- 
tion in  connection  with  more  or  less  indistinctness  causing 
perplexity  and  involving  apprehension.  At  the  same 
time,  as  this  apprehensive  excitation  is  connected  with 
the  cold  colors,  it  is  passive,  or,  as  one  might  say,  chilling 
and  benumbing,  rather  than  active,  or,  as  one  might  say, 
heating  and  inflaming.  For  this  reason  its  effects  seem 
appropriately  compared  to  those  of  awe  and  horror  repre- 
sented b}^  the  pectoral  quality.  Of  course,  color  alone, 
without  other  means  of  expression,  can  only  approximate 
a  representation  of  these;  but  let  the  outlines  justify  it, 
and  what  hues,  mixed  with  those  of  the  countenance,  can 
make  it  so  ghastly  as  dark  blue  and  green;  or  can  make 
the  clouds  of  heaven  so  unheavenly  as  very  dark  blue;  or 
the  sod  of  the  earth  so  unearthly  as  dark  blue-green;  or 
anything  so  deathlike  and  appalling  as  these  colors  used 
with  excessive  contrasts  of  light  and  shade?  Is  it  any 
wonder  that  it  is  with  these  combinations  that  Gustave 
Dor6  produces  most  of  the  harrowing  effects  in  his  series 
of  pictures  illustrating  Dante's  ''Inferno?" 

Now  let  us  add  black  to  yellow,  orange,  or  red,  either 
mixing  the  two  or  placing  them  side  by  side,  and  notice 
the  effect.  As  said  before,  the  very  dark  shades  cannot, 
in  painting,  be  used  exclusively.  If  they  be,  the  out- 
lines cannot  be  made  clearly  perceptible.  But  to  use 
black  in  connection  with  the  lighter  tints,  introduces  that 
variety  which,  as  said  on  page  194,  always  increases  the 
excitation  of  the  effect.  Warmth,  in  connection  with 
black,  or,  as  explained  in  the  last  paragraph,  with  apprehen- 
sive excitation, — emotive  heat  causing  active  resistance 
to  that  which  is  dreaded, — does  not  this  describe,  as  nearly 
as  anything  can,  a  condition  attendant  upon  hostility  such 
as  is  represented  to  the  ear  by  the  guttural  tone.  In  the 
case  of  the  warm  colors,  too,  still  more  than  in  that  of 
the  cold,  nature  seems  to  have  enforced  the  meanings  of 
the  combinations  so  that  we  shall  not  mistake  them. 
Yellow  and  black,  orange  and  black,  red  and  black,  or, 
in  place  of  black,  very  dark  gray,  green,  blue,  or  purple, 
which  are  allied  to  black, — is  there  a  particularly  veno- 
mous insect  or  beast,  or  appearance  of  any  kind,  from 
a  bee,  or  snake,  or  tiger,  to  the  fire  and  smoke  of  a  con- 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  335 

flagration,  or  the  lightning  and  cloud  of  a  storm,  in  which 
we  do  not  detect  some  presence  of  these  combinations? 
No  wonder,  then,  that  so  often  in  former  times,  at  least, 
soldiers  wore  them  on  their  breasts  when  girded  for  the 
contests  of  the  battle-field ! 

The  whisper,  in  its  weaker  form,  was  said  to  represent 
not  apprehension,  but  a  more  or  less  agreeable  degree  of 
interest.  Of  course,  the  weaker  form  of  a  negation  of 
color,  at  its  extreme,  must  be  represented  by  white.  As 
applied  to  tones,  there  is  no  separate  term  of  designation 
for  this  whisper  when  added  to  normal  or  orotund  quality. 
Elocutionists  merely  speak  of  an  aspirated  normal  or  oro- 
tund, saying  that,  when  aspirated,  feeling  is  added  to 
the  effect  of  each.  Let  us  recall  now  combinations  of 
white  with  blue,  green,  or  purple.  Is  there  any  diffi- 
culty in  recognizing  how  closely  the  result  corresponds 
to  that  which  is  produced  by  an  aspirated  normal  tone? 
We  have  all  seen  such  combinations  in  summer  costumes, 
as  well  as  in  tents  and  awnings  over  windows  or  verandas. 
In  such  cases,  is  there  not  a  more  exhilarating  effect  pro- 
duced by  them  than  could  be  produced  by  white  alone? 
or  by  one  of  these  colors  alone?  Yet,  at  the  same  time, 
is  not  the  effect  far  cooler,  and,  in  this  sense,  less  exhilara- 
ting, than  is  produced  by  combinations  of  white  with  red, 
orange,  or  yellow? 

In  these  latter  we  have,  as  has  been  said,  that  which 
corresponds  to  the  effect  of  the  aspirated  orotund, — the 
tone  used  in  earnest  advocacy  or  description  of  some- 
thing which  is  felt  to  be  in  itself  of  profound  interest. 
Think  of  the  combinations  of  white  with  these  warmer 
colors.  Could  any  language  better  than  that  just  used 
designate  their  peculiar  influence?  What  than  they  are 
more  exhilarating  or  entrancing  in  the  decorations  of 
interiors,  or  in  banners  and  pageants? — Painting,  Sculpture^ 
and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,  xi. 

REPRESENTATIVE  EFFECTS  OF  PITCH  IN  MUSIC  AND  POETRY 

(see  also  pitch  and  verse  melody  and  harmony). 
In  accordance  with  the  principle  of  correspondence,  the 
conditions  of  pitch  high  or  low,  or  its  movements  in  direc- 
tions upward  or  downward  in  the  musical  scale,  seem  to 
be  in  exact  analogy  with  correlated  conditions  and  directions 
with  which  we  are  all  familiar  in  the  external  world  of  space 


336  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

about  us;  and,  like  them,  to  indicate  the  mental  aim  or 
motive.  When,  for  instance,  one  is  elated,  he  holds  his 
head  high,  and  his  movements  are  varied  like  those  of  a 
buoyant  schoolboy.  When  one  is  depressed,  his  head 
bends  downward  and  his  movements  are  few.  It  is  the 
same  with  the  utterances.  A  soaring  birds  sings  in  a  high 
and  changing  key,  a  crouching  man  threatens,  or  a  dog 
growls  in  a  low  and  monotonous  key.  High  and  varied 
tones,  therefore,  seem  to  represent  elation  of  spirit,  or  that 
which  is  felt  to  be  elevating  in  its  influence;  and  low  and 
uniform  tones  represent  depression  of  spirit,  or  that  which 
is  felt  to  be  impressive. 

The  same  is  true  with  reference  to  movements  in  the 
directions  of  pitch.  Its  tendency,  when  two  or  more  tones 
at  different  pitch  are  heard  in  succession  may  be  upward 
or  downward,  or  both  upward  and  downward.  In  the  last 
case,  as  in  the  circumflex  inflection,  there  is  merely  a 
combination  of  the  meanings  in  the  other  two  cases,  and  we 
need  not  consider  it  here.  (See  the  author's  "Orator's 
Manual,"  pp.  56-59.)  When  directed  upward  or  down- 
ward, pitch  follows  laws  applicable  to  all  movement. 
Men  lift  their  bodies,  limbs,  and  feet,  when  they  start  to 
do  something.  They  let  their  hands  fall  at  their  sides 
and  sit  down  or  lie  down,  when  they  get  through  with 
what  they  have  to  do.  The  lungs  rise  in  inspiration  and 
fall  in  expiration.  So  with  voices  in  speaking.  Their 
sounds  rise  when  a  man  feels  inspired  to  begin  to  say 
something,  e.  g.,  "If  so,  I  will  go."  They  fall  when  the 
inspiration  is  over,  because  he  has  ended  saying  this,  e.  g., 
"If  so,  I  will  g6."  In  other  words,  upward  and  downward 
movements  of  pitch  represent  the  mental  motive.  The 
voice  rises  when  one  is  moved  to  open,  and  falls  when 
moved  to  close,  the  expression  of  an  idea.  It  must  be 
borne  in  mind,  however,  that  these  directions  of  pitch 
depend  upon  the  relations  of  utterance  to  the  sense,  and 
not  merely  to  the  sentence.  If  the  sense  does  not  close 
or  open  where  the  sentence  does,  the  tones  may  fall  before 
its  close  and  rise  at  its  end,  e.  g./'l  will  gd,  if  so,"  "Will 
you  go?"     Nd,  I  will  not,  if  he's  there." 

We  may  extend,  and,  at  the  same  time,  explain  this  by 
saying  that  the  voice  rises  for  the  purpose  of  opening  or 
broaching  an  idea;  that  is  to  say,  for  the  purpose  of  point- 
ing away  from  the  thought  immediately  expressed,  i.  e., 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  337 

when  one  is  inclined  to  consider  the  utterances  merely 
anticipative  or  indecisive^  in  the  sense  of  being  in  them- 
selves subordinate,  insignificant,  trite,  negative,  or  question- 
able, as  contrasted  with  something  that  is  expected  to 
be,  or  that  has  been,  expressed  by  the  falling  inflection. 
On  the  contrary,  the  voice  falls  for  the  purpose  of  closing 
or  completing  an  idea;  that  is  to  say,  for  the  purpose  of 
pointing  to  the  thought  immediately  expressed,  i.  e,,  when 
one  is  inclined  to  consider  the  utterances  conclusive  or 
decisive,  in  the  sense  of  being  in  themselves  interesting, 
important,  noteworthy,  affirmative,  or  positive.  It  falls 
whenever  it  gives  its  sentence  in  the  sense  either  of  having 
completed  the  expression  of  a  sentiment  or  of  having 
uttered  something  sententiously.    ... 

That  similar  principles  apply  to  the  movements  of  pitch 
in  the  melody  of  music,  we  might  infer  as  a  result  of  con- 
sidering the  subject  theoretically.  But  we  can  not  only 
infer  it,  but  perceive  it  as  a  result  of  a  practical  study  of 
facts.  Notice  the  following  text,^  which  was  connected 
with  the  notation  of  the  Gregorian  chants,  written  in  the 
sixth  century.  .  .  .  These  chants  to  which,  or  through  which, 
all  modern  music  is  traceable,  were  deliberately  composed 
in  order  to  be  representative,  and  nothing  else. 

It  might  be  supposed  that  there  would  be  nothing  in 
poetic  form  corresponding  to  these  upward  and  down- 
ward movements.  But,  as  a  fact,  any  metre  causing  a 
line  to  begin  with  an  unaccented  syllable,  or  to  end  with 
an  accented  syllable,  produces,  in  what  are  termed  the 
tunes  of  verse, — unless,  as  sometimes,  the  sense  requires 
a  different  inflection, — the  effect  of  an  upward  move- 
ment. Therefore,  this  metre  naturally  suggests  the  antici- 
pative, indecisive,  subordinate,  questionable  effect  of  the 
upward  inflection. 

On  the  other  hand,  a  line  beginning  with  an  accented, 
or  ending  with  an  unaccented  syllable,  produces  the  final, 
decisive,  interesting,  important,  affirmative  effect  of  the  down- 
ward movement  or  inflection. — Essentials  of  ^thetics,  xii. 

REPRESENTATIVE  EFFECTS  OF  TONES  IN  POETRY  AND  MUSIC. 

The  last  elocutionary  element,  the  influence  of  which 
upon  poetic  form  we  have  to  consider,  and  the  second 

*  Containing  directions  for  singing  so  as  to  indicate  a  comma,  a 
period,  an  interrogation  mark,  etc. 


33Si  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

that  has  to  do  with  the  tunes  of  verse,  is  quality;  or,  as  it 
is  sometimes  called,  on  account  of  that  to  which  it  corre- 
sponds in  painting,  tone-color.  Its  different  varieties  are 
determined  by  the  relative  proportions  in  which  noise  and 
music  are  combined  in  them;  or,  in  other  words,  by  the 
different  actions  of  the  organs  of  utterance  in  causing 
more  or  less  of  the  breath,  while  leaving  the  lungs,  to  be 
vocalized  and  rendered  resonant. 

What  different  kinds  of  quality  are  fitted  to  represent, 
it  needs  but  little  observation  to  discover  It  certainly  is 
not  physical  energy.  When  Patti  passes  from  a  loud  to  a 
soft,  or  from  an  abrupt  to  a  smooth  tone,  she  changes 
greatly  the  kinds  of  energy,  but  her  voice  still  retains  the 
same  Patti-quality.  Nor  does  quality  represent  mere 
intellectuality.  A  man,  without  changing  in  the  least  an 
habitual  nasal  or  wheezing  quality,  may  give  every  inflec- 
tion needed  in  order  to  represent  the  merely  mental  phases 
of  that  which  actuates  him.  But  if  we  frighten  him 
severely,  we  may  make  it  impossible  for  him  to  use  any 
other  sound  than  a  whisper;  if  in  connection  with  this, 
we  anger  him,  he  will  hiss;  or,  if  at  length  he  recover  his 
voice,  he  will  use  the  harsh,  jarring,  interrupted  hard-^o: 
quality  of  tone,  termed  the  guttural;  or,  if  that  which  he 
would  repel  be  too  great  to  make  anger  appropriate,  it 
may  widen  and  stiffen  his  throat  so  as  to  produce  the  hollow, 
almost  inarticulate  indication  of  awe  and  horror  given  by 
what  is  termed  the  pectoral  quality.  Release  him  now 
from  the  influence  of  affright,  anger,  or  horror,  and  put 
him  into  a  gently  satisfied  mood,  and  he  will  use  his  nearest 
approach  to  pure  quality.  Stir  him  then  to  profound 
emotion,  inspired  by  what  is  deeply  satisfying,  and  all  his 
vocal  passages  will  expand  again,  and  he  will  produce  his 
nearest  approach  to  the  full,  round,  resonant  quality  termed 
orotund. 

For  these  reasons,  it  seems  indisputable  that  quality 
represents  the  feelings,  the  temper,  the  spiritual  condition 
of  the  higher  emotive  nature, — what  I  have  termed  the 
soul,  by  which  is  meant,  as  needs  scarcely  be  said  again, 
the  principle  of  life  holding  body  and  mind  together — influ- 
encing and  influenced  by  both.  The  soul  communicates 
with  the  external  world  never  wholly  through  the  instinc- 
tive nature,  nor  wholly  through  the  reflective,  but  always 
through  one  of  the  two  modified  by  its  connection  with  the 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  339 

other.  The  quality  of  sound,  therefore,  represents  the  qual- 
ity of  the  feeling  that  vivifies  the  soul.  This  feeling,  on  its 
physical  side,  and  with  its  most  physical  coloring,  gives  us, 
first,  the  serpent-like  hissing  aspirate;  next,  with  an  intellect- 
ual coloring,  the  guttural  quality ;  and  last,  with  an  emotional 
coloring,  the  pectoral.  On  its  intellectual  side,  it  gives  us 
first,  with  a  physical  coloring,  the  soft  whispering  aspirate; 
next,  with  an  intellectual  coloring,  the  pure  quality;  and  last, 
with  an  emotional  coloring,  the  orotund.  Of  these  six  forms 
of  quality,  the  first  four  are  classed  in  a  general  way  as 
impure,  because  there  is  in  them  more  breath  or  noise  than 
vocal  tone  or  music;  and  the  last  two  are  classed  as  pure. 

The  first  three  again  refer  to  what  one  v/ishes  to  repel: 
the  hissing  aspirate  indicating  feelings  like  affright,  amaze- 
ment, indignation,  and  contempt;  the  guttural,  as  has  been 
said,  hostility;  and  the  pectoral,  awe  or  horror.  The  last 
three  refer  to  what,  if  not  wholly  satisfactory,  at  least, 
excites  in  one  no  movement  aimed  against  it.  The  soft 
whisper  indicates  feelings  like  surprise,  interest,  or  solici- 
tude; the  tone  termed  distinctively  the  pure  represents 
gentle  contemplation  of  what  may  be  either  joyous  or  sad; 
and  the  orotund,  deep  delight,  admiration,  courage,  or  determi- 
nation, as  inspired  by  contemplation  of  the  nohle  or  grand. 

All  these  different  qualities  can  be  given  by  good  elocu- 
tionists when  vocalizing  almost  any  of  the  consonants  or 
vowels;  but  the  poet  for  his  effects  must  depend  upon 
the  sounds  necessarily  given  to  words  in  ordinary  pro- 
nunciation. For  instance,  certain  consonants,  called 
variously  aspirates,  sibilants,  or  atonies,  viz. :  h,  s,  z,  w,  sh, 
wh,  th,  p,  t,  f,  are  aspirate  in  themselves;  that  is,  we  are 
obliged  to  whisper  when  we  articulate  them.  Therefore 
in  poetic  effects,  considered  aside  from  those  that  are 
elocutionary,  the  aspirate  must  be  produced  by  using 
words  containing  some  of  these  consonants;  and,  if  it  be 
the  repellent  aspirate  or  the  hiss,  by  using  also  consonants 
giving  guttural  effects,  like  g,  j,  ch,  and  r. — Poetry  as  a 
Representative  Art,  xi. 

As  in  the  cases  of  duration,  force,  and  pitch,  so  all  these 
forms  of  quality,  too,  have  their  correspondences  in  effects 
of  nature  as  manifested  in  other  departments.  Applied 
to  effects  of  water,  for  instance,  a  rushing  stream  would 
represent  the  harsh  aspirate,  a  rocky  stream  the  guttural. 


340  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

a  roiled  stream  the  pectoral,  a  rippling  stream  the  gentle 
aspirate,  a  clear  stream  the  pure,  and  a  full,  deep  stream 
the  orotund. 

That  analogies  exist  between  quality  as  used  in  elocu- 
tion and  in  music,  scarcely  needs  to  be  argued.  As  pro- 
duced by  the  human  voice,  there  can  be  no  radical 
differences  between  possibilities  in  speaking  and  in  singing ; 
and,  as  produced  by  constructed  musical  instruments,  it 
is  inevitable  that  the  mind  should  associate  with  each 
certain  representative  features,  and  should  determine  them 
by  the  resemblance,  or  supposed  resemblance,  of  their 
artificial  tones  to  the  quality  of  some  tone  natural  to  the 
human  voice,  or  else  produced  in  some  other  way  in  nature. 
In  determining  these  resemblances,  too,  one  would  be 
influenced,  of  course,  by  the  uses  which,  as  a  rule,  are 
made  of  the  particular  instruments  which  he  is  hearing. 
It  is  undoubtedly  owing  to  associations  of  this  kind  that 
we  read  of  the  stirring  tones  of  the  fife  and  drum,  the  solemn 
tones  of  the  organ,  the  purity  and  softness  of  the  flute,  the 
gayety  and  triumph  of  the  trumpet,  the  woe  and  complaint 
of  the  bassoon,  the  pathos  and  humaneness  of  the  violin. 
When,  for  instance,  in  listening  to  an  opera,  we  hear  pre- 
dominantly the  clash  of  the  cymbals  or  rattle  of  the  kettle- 
drums, associated,  as  these  usually  are,  with  the  sharper 
tones  of  the  metallic  instruments,  we  know  that  the  sounds, 
as  in  the  last  act  of  Mozart's  '*  Don  Juan,"  where  hell  is  sup- 
posed to  await  the  hero,  represent,  according  to  the  degrees 
of  their  intensity,  not  only  the  startling,  but  the  hostile  and 
menacing  effects  which,  in  the  human  voice,  we  associate  with 
guttural  quality.  If  any  action  of  the  play  must  follow 
what  we  hear,  we  expect  to  see  some  violent  conflict  full 
of  malignity  and  peril.  When  the  predominating  sounds 
are  those  of  the  bass  drums  and  the  lower,  more  hollow 
tones  of  either  the  wind  or  the  stringed  instruments,  we 
know  that,  as  in  the  orchestration  which  in  Wagner's 
** Siegfried"  accompanies  the  hero's  encounter  with  the 
dragon,  they  represent  the  presence  of  that  which  inspires 
to  awe  and  horror  such  as,  in  the  human  voice,  we  asso- 
ciate with  the  pectoral  quality.  The  resemblance  to  this 
tone  in  its  milder  forms  is  undoubtedly  that  which  imparts 
a  solemn  effect  to  the  music  of  the  church  organ.  When, 
again,  the  predominating  sounds  are  those  of  the  wood 
instruments — the  clarinet,  the  flute,  even,  to  some  extent, 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  341 

the  organ — we  feel  that  these  represent  the  gentle,  passive 
contemplation,  sad  or  joyous,  which,  in  elocution,  is  indi- 
cated by  pure  quality.  .  .  . 

When,  instead  of  the  wooden  wind  instruments,  we  hear 
the  metallic,  either  as  in  the  organ  or  in  trumpets  and 
instruments  of  similar  character,  we  feel  that  these  repre- 
sent the  more  profound  emotions,  the  admiration,  enthu- 
siasm, courage,  determination,  that  we  are  accustomed  to 
associate  with  elocutionary  orotund  quality.  To  such 
music  we  expect  to  see  troops  march  on  to  the  stage,  as 
in  the  Soldiers'  Chorus  in  Gounod's  "Faust,"  giving  vent 
to  their  confidence  in  anticipation  of  victory,  or  to  their 
joy  in  view  of  its  accomplishment.  Once  more,  when  we 
hear  the  stringed  instruments  we  recognize  that  it  is  their 
peculiar  function  to  impart  intensity  of  feeling,  just  as  is 
true  of  the  elocutionary  aspirated  quality.  Hence,  the 
reason  for  the  use  of  the  violins  in  that  scene  in  Wagner's 
"Meistersinger"  which  takes  place  in  the  house  of  Hans 
Sachs;  or  in  the  Venus  music  of  his  " Tannhauser " ;  or 
in  the  waltz  music  of  Gounod's  "Faust."  Just  as  in  the 
case  of  the  elocutionary  aspirate,  too,  so  here  the  effects  of 
these  stringed  instruments  may  partake  of  those  of  any  of 
the  other  instruments.  Not  only  when  associated,  as  in 
orchestral  music,  with  the  instruments  that  have  been 
mentioned,  but  even  when  not  associated  with  these,  the 
sharper  tones  of  the  strings  suggest  the  aspirated  guttural, 
their  lower  hollow  tones  the  aspirated  pectoral,  their  struck 
t^nes,  as  in  the  piano,  the  guitar,  and  the  harp,  the  aspi- 
rated pure,  and  their  tones  as  produced  by  the  bow,  the 
aspirated  orotund. — Rhythm  and  Harmony  in  Poetry  and 
Music:  Music  as  a  Representative  Art,  vi. 

"representative  significance  of  form"  (analysis  of 

THE  book). 

"The  Representative  Significance  of  Form"  begins 
with  the  presumption  that  form,  even  as  it  exists  in  nature, 
always  represents  some  significance;  and  that  it  is  from 
nature,  therefore,  that,  directly  or  indirectly,  a  man  derives, 
in  the  main,  the  conceptions  which  he  embodies  in  art.  The 
methods  of  deriving  such  conceptions  are  first  considered, 
and  then  it  is  shown  how  each  class  of  conceptions  may  be 
represented  in  each  of  the  different  arts.  Advancing  from 
that  which  is  more  elementary  to  that  which  is  more  com- 


342  AN  ART'PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

plex,  there  are  treated  in  this  way  the  conceptions  of  space, 
time,  existence,  matter,  movement,  force,  arrangement, 
operation,  method  of  operation,  organism,  Hfe,  import, 
and,  finally,  of  the  infinite,  the  eternal,  and  the  absolute, 
together  with  conceptions  of  truth  in  the  abstract  and  in  the 
concrete,  as  embodied  either  in  formulae  or  in  action.  In 
all  cases  it  is  shown  that  significance  and  form  necessarily 
go  together.  After  this,  the  different  emphasis  which  the 
ways  of  blending  the  two  give  to  the  one  or  to  the  other  is 
shown  to  distinguish  artistic  from  religious  truth,  and  also 
from  scientific;  and  the  various  conditions,  methods,  and 
purposes  are  unfolded,  in  connection  with  which  develop- 
ment and  expression  are  given  to  each  of  the  three.  In 
accordance  with  the  distinctions  thus  made,  it  is  then 
pointed  out  that,  as  manifested  in  art,  the  basic  principle 
of  the  religious  tendency  prompts  to  the  instinctive,  spon- 
taneous, spiritual  subordination  of  form  to  significance, 
which  we  have  in  the  sublime  and  the  grand,  the  most 
artistic  expression  of  which  is  in  epic  art;  that  the  basic 
principle  of  the  scientific  tendency  prompts  to  the  reflec- 
tive, responsive,  materialistic  equipoise  of  significance  and 
form,  found  in  the  picturesque  and  the  simple,  the  most 
artistic  expression  of  which  is  in  realistic  art;  and  that 
the  basic  principle  of  the  distinctively  artistic  tendency 
prompts  to  the  instinctively  reflective,  emotive,  and  ideal- 
istic subordination  of  significance  to  form,  found  in  the 
brilliant  and  the  striking,  the  most  artistic  expression  of 
which  is  in  dramatic  art.  The  same  three  respective 
tendencies,  considered  both  in  their  tragic  and  their  comic 
phases,  are  shown  to  be  at  the  basis  also  of  the  more  im- 
portant subdivisions  of  epic,  realistic,  and  dramatic  art; 
after  ample  illustrations  to  exemplify  and  confirm  which 
propositions,  the  book  closes  by  finally  indicating  as 
developed  from  the  same  tendencies  certain  expressional 
differences,  as  well  as  correspondences,  between  the  arts 
of  Music,  Poetry,  Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture — 
Recapitulation  in  Proportion  and  Harmony,  xxvi. 

RHETORICIANS,  AS  COLLEGE  PRESIDENTS. 

At  that  time,  the  presidents  of  all  our  prominent  colleges 
— men  like  Nott,  Griffin,  Hopkins,  Woods,  Wayland,  Lord, 
Kirkland,  Humphrey,  Finney — were  rhetoricians,  if  not,  as 
was   the   case   with   many   of   them,    elocutionists.     The 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  343 

whole  curriculum  was  made  a  unity  by  aiming  it  in  the 
direction  of  expression,  which  certainly  is  a  wise  thing  to 
do,  if  the  problem  of  education  be,  as  has  been  stated  in  this 
paper,  how  to  get  knowledge  not  into  the  mind,  but  out  of  it. 
— Essay  on  the  Literary  Artist  and  Elocution. 

rhyme,  its  influence  on  the  mind  {see  verse  an  ' 
element). 

It  is  evident,  from  what  has  been  said,  that  the  chief 
effect  of  rhyme,  or  the  recurrence  of  similar  sounds  at  the 
ends  of  lines,  is  to  introduce  into  the  verse  the  element  of 
sameness.  This  sameness  of  itself,  as  has  been  intimated 
in  another  place,  increases  the  effects  of  versification  by 
directing  attention  to  the  ends  of  the  lines  and  thus  sepa- 
rating them.  Besides  this,  especially  when  the  rhymes  are 
used  at  like  intervals,  as  is  generally  the  case,  they  tend 
to  give  unity  to  the  form.  Their  influence  in  this  regard 
is  precisely  analogous  to  that  of  the  cadences  and  half 
cadences,  which,  coming  at  the  ends  of  musical  phrases, 
give  the  effect  of  unity  to  musical  composition.   .   .   . 

Like  these  similarly  ending  cadences  and  half  cadences 
in  music,  rhymes  furnish  a  framework  about  which,  or 
rather  within  which,  all  the  other  form-elements  of  the 
verse  are  brought  together.  This  is  the  reason  why  it  is 
easier  for  beginners  to  write  poetry  in  rhymes  than  in 
blank  verse.  All  successful  verse  must  have  form,  and 
rhymes  of  themselves  tend  to  give  it  this.  Not  only  so, 
but — what  is  of  main  importance  in  our  present  treatment 
of  the  subject — they  serve  equally  to  furnish  a  framework 
for  the  poetic  thought.  The  rhyming  words,  especially  the 
last  of  two  or  three  that  rhyme,  always  appear  to  be  especi- 
ally emphatic.  In  fact,  they  seem  to  add  to  the  emphasis 
in  almost  every  possible  way.  They  augment  the  effects  of 
duration  or  quantity,  because  at  the  end  of  the  line,  where 
the  rhyme  usually  is,  the  voice,  as  a  rule,  pauses;  of  force, 
because  rhyming  syllables,  at  least  the  last  ones  in  which  a 
sound  is  repeated,  appear  to  be  pronounced  more  strongly 
than  others;  of  pitch,  because,  as  we  have  found,  where  the 
vowel-sounds  are  the  same,  the  pitch  seems  the  same;  and  of 
quality,  as  we  shall  find,  because  the  likeness  of  the  rhyming 
syllables  necessarily  attracts  attention.  For  all  these 
reasons,  rhymes  necessarily  tend  to  thrust  into  prominence 
the  ideas  expressed  in  them.  .  .  .  They  convey  the  impres- 
sion, therefore,  that  something  important  has  been  said; 


344  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

and  if  they  ^  occur  frequently,  they  suggest  that  many 
important  things  have  been  said,  and  said  in  a  short  time, 
or — what  is  equivalent  to  this — that  the  thought  in  the 
poem  is  moving  on  rapidly,  an  effect  that  could  not  be 
produced  by  the  same  words  arranged  differently. — Poetry 
as  a  Representative  Art,  x. 

RHYMES,  EFFECTS  OF. 

To  perceive  parallelism  in  unrhymed  blank  verses,  it  is 
often  necessary  to  see  them  printed;  but  in  successive  lines 
ended  with  the  same  sounds,  the  ear  recognizes  it  at  once. — 
Rhythm  and  Harmony  in  Poetry  and  Music,  ix. 

Placed,  as  they  are,  at  the  ends  of  lines,  they  serve  to 
separate  these,  one  from  the  other,  and  to  emphasize  the 
element  of  form  in  their  composition.  They  do  this,  more- 
over, by  satisfying  the  distinctively  artistic  tendency  of  the 
mind  to  compare  and  classify  effects  that  are  alike,  indicat- 
ing clearly  the  length  of  each  line,  and  which  lines  are  meant 
to  correspond. — Idem,  viii. 

RHYTHM    (see    also    ACCENT,   PROPORTION,    PROPORTION   AND 
RHYTHM,  and  VERSE,  CLASSIC  VS.  MODERN). 

Art  did  not  originate  rhythm  nor  the  satisfaction  deriv- 
able from  it.  Long  before  the  times  of  the  first  artists, 
men  had  had  practical  experience  of  its  pleasures.  Long 
before  the  age  of  poetry,  or  music,  or  dancing,  or  even  of 
fences  or  schoolboys,  the  primitive  man  had  sat  upon  a 
log  and  kicked  with  his  heels,  producing  a  rhythm  as  per- 
fect, in  its  wa}^  as  that  of  his  representatives  of  the  present 
who  in  Africa  take  delight  in  stamping  their  feet  and 
clapping  their  hands,  and  in  America  in  playing  upon  drums 
and  tambourines,  in  order  to  keep  time  to  the  movements  of 
dancers  and  the  tunes  of  singers. 

When  we  come  to  ask  why  rhythm  should  be  produced 
thus,  either  by  itself  or  in  connection  with  poetry  or 
music —  in  short,  why  it  should  be,  as  seems  to  be  the  case, 
a  natural  mode  of  expression,  we  cannot  avoid  having  it 
suggested,  at  once,  that  it  corresponds  to  a  method  char- 
acterizing all  natural  movement  whatever,  whether  appeal- 
ing to  the  eye  or  ear,  or  whether  produced  by  a  human 
being  or  perceived  in  external  nature.  There  is  rhythm 
in  the  beating  of  our  pulses,  in  the  alternate  lifting  and 
falling  of  our  chests  while  breathing,  in  our  accenting 
and  leaving  unaccented  the  syllables  of  our  speech,  in  our 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  345 

pausing  for  breath  between  consecutive  phrases,  and  in 
our  balancing  from  side  to  side  and  pushing  forward  one 
leg  or  one  arm  and  then  another,  while  walking.  There 
is  rhythm  in  the  manifestations  of  all  the  life  about  us, 
in  the  flapping  of  the  wings. of  the  bird,  in  the  changing 
phases  of  its  song,  even  in  the  minutest  trills  that  make 
up  its  melody,  and  in  the  throbbings  of  its  throat  to  utter 
them;  in  the  rising  and  falling  of  the  sounds  of  the  wind, 
and  of  the  swaying  to  and  fro  of  the  trees,  as  well  as  in 
the  flow  and  ebb  of  the  surf  on  the  seashore,  and  in  the 
jarring  of  the  thunder  and  the  zigzag  course  of  the  lightning. 
In  fact,  rhythm  seems  to  be  almost  as  intimately  associated 
with  everything  that  a  man  can  see  or  hear,  as  is  the  beating 
of  his  own  heart  with  his  own  life.  Even  the  stars,  like  the 
rockets  that  we  send  toward  them,  speed  onward  in  paths 
that  return  upon  themselves,  and  the  phrase  "music  of  the 
spheres  "  is  a  logical  as  well  as  a  poetical  result  of  an  endeav- 
or to  classify  the  grandest  of  all  movements  in  accordance 
with  a  method  which  is  conceived  to  be  universal.  No 
wonder,  then,  that  men  should  feel  the  use  of  rhythm  to  be 
appropriate  in  art-products  modeled  upon  natural  products. 
No  wonder  that,  connected  as  it  is  with  natural  movement 
and  life  and  the  enjoyment  inseparably  associated  with  life, 
it  should  seem  to  the  civilized  to  be — what  certainly  it  seems 
to  the  uncivilized — an  artistic  end  in  itself. 

Nor  is  this  view  of  it  suggested  as  a  result  merely  of 
superficial  observation.  It  is  substantiated  by  the  more 
searching  experiments  of  the  scientists.  There  have  been 
discovered,  for  instance,  in  addition  to  the  regular  beat 
of  the  heart,  and  independent  of  it,  rhythmical  contrac- 
tions and  expansions  of  the  walls  of  the  arteries,  increasing 
and  decreasing  at  regular  intervals  the  supply  of  blood. 
Such  processes  .  .  .  may  be  checked  by  cutting  the  nerves 
connecting  .  .  .  the  vaso-motor  system;  and  this  fact  is 
taken  to  indicate  that  there  is  a  rhythmic  form  of  activity  in 
the  nerve-centres  themselves.  .  .  .  The  rhythmic  character 
of  nerve-action  seems  to  indicate  a  possibility  of  the  same  in 
mental  action.  Acting  upon  this  suggestion,  Dr.  Thaddeus 
L.  Bolton,  Demonstrator  and  Fellow  in  Clark  University, 
conducted,  a  few  years  ago,  a  series  of  interesting  experi- 
ments. "The  first  and  most  important  object"  of  these 
experiments  is  said  to  have  been  to  determine  "what  the 
mind  did  with  a  series  of  simple  auditory  impressions,  in 


346  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

which  there  was  absolutely  no  change  of  intensity,  pitch, 
quality,  or  time-interval."  As  a  result  it  was  found  that, 
out  of  fifty  who  were  asked  to  listen  to  clicks  produced  by 
an  instrument  prepared  for  the  purpose,  two  alone  failed 
to  divide  these  clicks  into  groups,  the  number  in  each  group 
being  determined,  mainly,  by  the  relative  rapidity  with 
which  the  clicks  were  produced.  The  groups  were  usually 
of  twos  or  threes,  though,  with  greater  rapidity,  they  passed 
into  groups  of  fours,  sixes,  and  eights,  always,  however,  when 
the  members  were  many,  with  a  tendency  to  divide  into 
twos,  threes,  and  fours.  It  was  found,  moreover,  that, 
whenever  a  second,  third,  or  fourth  click  was  made  louder 
than  the  others,  the  inclination  to  divide  the  clicks  into 
corresponding  groups  of  twos,  threes,  or  fours  was  increased. 
— The  Essentials  of  Esthetics,  xvi. 

Rhythm  is  an  effect  produced  by  a  consecutive  series 
of  sounds,  or  multiples  of  sounds,  which,  in  themselves, 
may  be  varied  and  complex;  but  each  series  of  which  is  of 
like  duration.  In  other  words,  it  is  a  result,  as  is  every- 
thing that  is  artistic,  of  grouping  according  to  some  one 
principle — to  that  of  time  in  this  case — the  like  partial 
effects  of  unlike  complex  wholes.  ^ — Rhythm  and  Harmony  in 
Poetry  and  Music,  v. 

Speech  we  find  composed  of  syllables  each  uttered  with  an 
individual  stress,  which  separates  it  from  other  syllables; 
but,  more  than  this,  we  find  that  every  second  or  third 
syllable  is  apt  to  be  accented,  and,  largely  because  ac- 
cented, is  apt  to  be  prolonged  more  than  are  the  other 
syllables.  The  reason  for  the  accent  is  physiological. 
The  vocalized  breath  flows  through  the  throat — as  water 
through  the  neck  of  a  bottle — with  what  may  be  termed 
alternate  active  and  passive  movements.  The  former  of 
these  movements  is  that  which,  in  every  second,  third, 
fourth,  or  fifth  syllable,  produces  the  accent.  In  our 
language  all  words  of  more  than  one  syllable  have  come 
to  have  an  accent  that  is  fixed — as  distingushed  from 
variable,  which  may  be  affirmed  of  words  in  the  French; 
and  all  our  monosyllabic  articles,  prepositions,  and  conjunc- 
tions are  unaccented,  unless  the  sense  very  clearly  demands 
a  different  treatment.  These  two  facts  enable  one  to 
arrange  any  number  of  our  words  so  that  the  fixed  accents 

'  See  page  89  of  this  volume. 


'QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  '347 

shall  fall,  as  natural  utterance  demands  that  it  should,  on 
every  second,  third,  fourth,  or  fifth  syllable.  .  .  .  Let  us  turn 
to  speech  again.  Here  we  find  that  certain  smaller  groups 
composed  of  combined  accented  and  unaccented  syllables 
are  themselves  combined  into  larger  groups,  which  are 
separated  from  other  larger  groups  of  the  same  composite 
character  by  the  necessity  experienced  of  pausing  at  certain 
intervals  in  order  to  draw  in  the  breath.  .  .  .  Nature, 
therefore,  furnishes  speech  with  two  characteristics, — 
accents  after  every  two,  three,  four,  or  five  syllables,  and 
pauses  after  every  four,  six,  eight,  nine,  ten,  twelve,  or  more 
syllables.  Those  who  have  read  the  former  volumes  of 
this  series  are  now  asked  to  recall  what  was  said  in  "The 
Genesis  of  Art-Form,"  with  reference  to  the  necessity  uni- 
versally experienced  by  the  mind  of  conceiving  of  effects 
— so  as  to  have  a  clear  apprehension  of  them — as  a  unity; 
also  .  .  .  that  grouping  to  be  effective  in  securing  a  general 
result  of  unity,  must  be  made  in  accordance  with  the 
principle  of  comparison,  i.  e.,  of  putting  like  with  like, — a 
principle  which  in  science  leads  to  classification,  and  in  art 
to  the  analogous  results  of  composition.'  .  .  .  Accent  thus 
used  has  a  tendency  to  form  the  larger  rhythmic  groups, 
such  as  are  developed  into  poetic  lines,  before  it  forms  the 
smaller  ones,  such  as  are  developed  into  measures.  The 
effect  of  each  accent  is  that  of  one  click,  and,  no  matter 
whether  many  unaccented  syllables  or  none  come  between 
the  accented  ones,  a  certain  number  of  the  latter,  so  long  as 
all  are  separated  by  like  intervals  of  time,  constitute  one 
group  such  as  forms  one  line  of  verse. 

Br6ak,  br^ak,  br^ak, 

On  thy  c61d  gray  st6nes,  oh  s6a. 

And  I  woUld  that  my  t6ngue  could  litter 

The  th6ughts  that  arise  in  m^. 

Break,  Break,  Break — Tennyson. 

Later,  however,  but  only  later,  it  is  perceived  that  the 
effect  of  each  syllable  too  is  that  of  one  click,  and  that,  by 
attaching  a  certain  fixed  number  of  unaccented  syllables 
to  each  accented  one,  smaller  groups  can  be  formed,  such  as 
constitute  poetic  measures.  That  this  is  the  natural  order 
of  development  of  the  tendencies  that  lead  to  lines  and 
measures,  can  be  confirmed  by  the  slightest  observation  of 

» See  page  89  of  this  volume. 


34S  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

ordinary  talking  and  reciting.  In  these  we  always  find  an 
inclination  to  introduce  the  accented  syllables  with  approxi- 
mate regularity.  This  inclination  needs  only  a  little 
artistic  development,  and  they  can  be  introduced  with 
absolute  regularity.  When  this  has  been  done,  the  form 
seems  made  up  of  equal  parts  determined  by  the  emphasized 
syllables. — Idem,  ii. 

"rhythm  and  harmony"  (analysis  of  the  book). 
In  the  volume  entitled  ' '  Rhythm  and  Harmony  in  Poetry 
and  Music,"  as  also  in  the  present  volume,  this  method  of 
putting  like  with  like,  as  modified  by  the  conditions  of 
variety  everywhere  characterizing  the  materials  with  which 
art  has  to  work,  is  shown  to  be  at  the  basis  of  all  the  different 
developments  of  form  as  form  with  which  the  art  of  our 
times  is  acquainted.  Rhythm  and  proportion  are  traced 
to  effects  produced  by  a  grouping,  of  which  the  mind  is 
conscious,  of  like  or  allied  measurements,  or  multiples  of 
measurements,  in  time  or  space;  and  harmony,  whether  of 
spoken  words,  of  musical  notes,  of  outlines,  or  of  colors,  is 
traced  to  a  grouping,  of  which  the  mind  is  not  conscious,  of 
like  or  allied  measurements,  or  multiples  of  measurements,  in 
vibratory  movements.  To  exemplify  the  truth  of  this 
statement,  as  evinced  in  every  detail  of  the  forms  of  these 
arts,  has  necessitated  much  explanation  and  no  little  repeti- 
tion. But  these  are  excusable  if  they  have  suggested  any 
important  considerations  not  before  recognized.  For 
instance,  the  latest,  and  perhaps  the  best,  book  produced  in 
our  country  which  discusses  poetic  form,  is  developed  from 
the  same  limited  conception  of  it  indicated  in  the  definition 
of  Poe  in  his  essay  on  "The  Poetic  Principle,"  namely, 
"the  rhythmical  creation  of  beauty."  No  one  would  say 
that  in  "Rhythm  and  Harmony  in  Poetry  and  Music" 
there  is  any  lack  of  thoroughness  in  the  treatment  of  rhythm 
in  poetry  or  of  its  various  applications  and  possibilities, — 
to  say  nothing  of  the  freshness  of  the  treatment,  owing  to 
the  circumstance  that  a  year  before  the  book  was  published, 
the  scientific  investigations  that  suggested,  perhaps,  the 
most  important  conclusions  in  it  had  not  been  made.  At 
the  same  time,  no  one  can  read  that  book  carefully  and  not 
recognize  that  harmony,  too,  as  distinctly  differentiated 
from  rhythm,  plays  as  noteworthy  a  part  in  the  general 
effects  of  poetry  as  in  those  of  music;  that,  different  as  are 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  349 

both  factors  and  effects  as  used  in  poetic  and  in  musical 
harmony,  nevertheless,  the  methods  of  it  in  both  arts 
illustrate  identical  principles.  That  an  analogous  fact  is 
true,  not  only  in  these  arts,  but  also  in  painting,  sculpture, 
and  architecture,  has  been  shown  in  the  present  volume, 
concerning  the  line  of  thought  in  which,  however,  nothing 
need  be  added  here. — Proportion  and  Harmony,  xxvi. 

RHYTHM  AND  PROPORTION,  DETERMINED  BY  EQUAL  SUB- 
DIVISIONS (see  also  proportion). 
Rhythm  is  a  result  of  making,  by  series  of  noises,  or 
strokes,  certain  like  divisions  of  time — small  divisions,  and 
exact  multiples  of  them  in  large  divi.sions.  But  the  moment 
that  the  smaller  divisions  become  so  numerous  that  the 
fact  that  they  exactly  go  into  the  larger  divisions  is  no 
longer  perceptible — as,  often,  when  we  hear  more  even  than 
eight  or  ten  notes  in  a  musical  measure,  or  more  than  three 
or  four  syllables  in  a  poetic  foot, — the  effect  ceases  to  be 
rhythmical.  A  like  fact  is  true  of  proportion.  Owing  to 
the  very  great  possibilities  and  complications  of  outlining, 
as  in  squares,  angles,  and  curves,  its  laws  are  intricate  and 
difficult  to  apply;  but,  as  is  shown  in  the  volume  of  the 
author  entitled,  "Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and 
Color  in  Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture,"  the  effects 
of  proportion  all  result,  in  the  last  analysis,  from  exact 
divisions  and  subdivisions  of  space  in  every  way  analogous 
to  the  divisions  and  subdivisions  of  time  that  produce 
rhythm. — Essentials  of  Esthetics,  ii. 

rhythm  and  proportion  important  AND  COMPLEX  (see  also 
proportion). 
In  this  life,  it  usually  takes  very  little  to  start  that  which 
may  develop  into  very  much.  Rhythm  is  apparently  of 
little  importance.  If  one  knew  nothing  about  art,  what 
could  appear  more  absurd  than  for  an  intelligent  man  to 
think  it  worth  while,  when  wishing  to  say  something,  to 
count  the  syllables  that  he  utters,  so  that  they  shall  reveal 
exact  divisions  and  subdivisions  of  time,  such  as  the  negro 
makes  when  be  beats  his  hands  and  feet  for  dancers?  Yet 
it  is  out  of  this  simple  method  of  counting,  that  art  has 
developed  the  most  important  element  in  the  form  of 
poetry,  as  well  as  an  element  extremely  important  in  the 
form  of  music.  When  we  come  to  examine  the  different 
combinations  of  effects  attributable  to  rhythm,  we  find  that 


350  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

we  are  by  no  means  dealing  with  a  subject  so  simple  as  at 
first  appeared.  The  same  is  true  of  proportion.  Before 
deciding,  for  instance,  that  a  foot  or  a  nose  is  dispropor- 
tionately large  or  small,  it  must  be  compared  not  only 
with  other  feet  and  noses,  but  with  the  sizes  of  all  the  other 
surrounding  features  in  the  animal  or  man  in  which  it 
appears.  The  same  feature  may  look  too  large  with  small 
surroundings,  and  too  small  with  large  ones.  Indeed,  the 
number  and  variety  of  measurements  that  any  extensive 
knowledge  or  application  of  proportion  involves  are  almost 
incalculable.  When  we  try  to  determine  exactly  what  it  is 
that  causes  its  results  to  be  satisfactory,  in  the  human  form 
.  .  .  then  we  begin  to  perceive  that  this  characteristic,  as 
is  true  of  every  other  entering  into  the  effects  of  beauty, 
is  capable  of  complexities  as  well  as  possibilities  almost 
infinite. — Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color,  ii. 

Savages  and  young  children  with  no  musical  training, 
and  their  elders  who  have  no  ability  to  appreciate  changes 
in  quality  or  pitch,  all  show  appreciation  of  rhythm.  Noth- 
ing could  be  more  perfect  than  that  in  the  poetry  of  Pope, 
Scott,  or  Byron.  Yet  it  is  said  that  neither  of  these  was 
able  to  distinguish  one  tune  from  another.  So  with  many 
dancers.  One  need  not  be  able  to  follow  a  tune  as  a  tune,  in 
order  to  keep  time  to  its  rhythm. — Rhythm  and  Harmony 
in  Poetry  and  Music,  vi. 

SCIENCE  AIDED  BY  ART  {seC  also  IMAGINATION  AS  AIDING 

science). 
Many  scientists  have  a  subtle,  even  a  pronounced  dis- 
belief, in  that  arrangement  of  nature  in  accordance  with 
which  matter  and  mind,  knowledge  and  surmisal,  always 
move  forward  on  parallel  planes  with  the  mind  and  its 
surmisal  some  distance  ahead.  Their  disbelief  is  owing  to  a 
lack  of  imagination,  and  this  is  often  owing  to  a  lack  of  the 
kind  of  culture  which  they  might  derive  from  giving  atten- 
tion to  some  phase  of  art.  And  yet  the  majority  of  them, 
perhaps,  believe  that  art  is  a  mere  adjunct  to  intellectual 
training, — an  ornamental  adjunct,  too,  introducing,  like 
the  carving  on  the  keystone  of  an  arch,  what  may  be 
interesting  and  pretty,  but  is  not  essentially  useful.  This 
is  a  mistake.  In  important  particulars,  it  may  be  said  that 
art  is  not  the  carving  on  the  keystone,  but  the  keystone 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  351 

itself,  without  which  the  whole  arch  would  tumble. — Essay 
on  Art  and  Education, 

SCIENCE    AS    AN    AID   TO   ART   {see    also   ART,    BREADTH   OF, 
GENIUS  AND  LEARNING,  and  INFORMATION). 

Art  is  a  development  of  natural  tendencies,  of  which  we 
are  not  always  conscious.  As  a  rule,  it  is  only  after  science 
has  brought  these  to  light  that  they  are  recognized  as 
sustaining  the  relationship,  which  they  do,  to  the  forms  in 
which  they  have  developed. — Rhythm  and  Harmony  in 
Poetry  and  Music,  iii. 

SCIENCE  FOLLOWING  THE  LEADING  OF  ART  {see  also  ART,  THE 
CONNECTING  LINK). 

Pythagoras  was  studying  music  when  he  began  the 
discovery  of  the  laws  of  sound,  and  Leonardo  and  Chevreul 
were  studying  art  when  they  made  their  contributions  to 
the  understanding  of  color ;  and,  though  the  time  has  now  come 
when  those  composing  the  advancing  army  of  science  have 
moved  into  every  remotest  valley  of  the  invaded  country, 
apparently  needing  no  longer  any  leadership  of  the  kind,  they 
never  would  have  begun  their  advance  unless,  like  the  hosts 
of  almost  every  conquering  army,  they  had  at  first  marched 
behind  a  standard  that  in  itself  was  a  thing  of  beauty. — 
Essay  on  Art  and  Education. 

SCIENCE   vs.   ART   {see  also  ARTISTIC  vs.  SCIENTIFIC    MENTAL 

action). 

What  causes  the  difference  in  aim  between  one  who 
devotes  himself  to  science  and  one  who  devotes  him- 
self to  art?  This:  the  scientist  must  be  an  informer,  the 
artist  a  performer.  Science  develops  the  powers  of  under- 
standing and  increases  knowledge.  Art  develops  the 
powers  of  expression  or  execution,  and  increases  skill. — 
Essay  on  Artistic  vs.  Scientific  Education. 

Science  and  art  are  different,  and  they  satisfy  different 
mental  cravings,  one  demanding  stimulus  for  knowledge 
and  the  other  for  imagination.  Nor  was  there  ever  a  time 
when  the  normal  mind  did  not  demand  both.  To  suppose 
that  it  can  be  satisfied  with  one  of  them  is  like  supposing 
that  thirst  can  be  assuaged  by  giving  food. — The  Representa- 
tive Significance  of  Form,  xxvi. 

SCIENCE  vs.   ART   IN   EDUCATION. 

No  man  can  use  his  eyes,  ears,  memory,  as  science  necessi- 
tates, to  say  nothing  of  his  powers  of  analysis  and  generaliza- 


352  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

tion,  without  learning  a  very  great  deal.  But  think  how 
much  more  he  can  learn,  when  he  is  forced  into  the  repe- 
titious and  conscientious  practice  which  is  always  necessary 
before  one  can  acquire  that  skill  which  is  essential  to  success 
in  art. — Essay  on  Art  and  Education. 

SCULPTURE,  GREEK,  BASED  ON  MODELS  {see  olso  MODELS,  and 
OBSERVATION  VS.  THEORY). 

One  fact  always  affords  a  strong  argument  in  support  of 
the  theory  that  Greek  sculpture  was  produced  mainly  by 
an  application  of  mathematical  principles,  and  this  is  the 
conventional  character  of  the  face  of  the  statue.  With  few 
exceptions,  the  nose,  mouth,  eyes,  and  forehead  all  show  the 
results  of  the  same  relative  measurements ;  and  the  question 
is  asked  very  pertinently.  If  the  face  were  conventional 
why  was  not  the  form  also?  To  answer  this  question, 
makes  it  necessary  to  direct  attention  to  something  which 
we  moderns  find  it  difficult  to  understand,  .  .  .  that  char- 
acter and  thought  are  expressed  in  the  whole  human  figure. 
Of  this,  the  face  forms  a  very  small  part.  If  we  be  in 
circumstances  where  we  can  see  the  whole  figure,  there,  by  a 
necessary  law  of  the  mind,  we  think  mainly  of  that  which 
occupies  the  main  part  of  the  field  of  vision.  If  we  have 
analyzed  our  own  thoughts,  when  witnessing  a  scene  in 
which  the  clothing  of  the  performers  was  less  ample  than 
that  allotted  by  our  standards  of  civilization, — an  athletic 
exhibition,  or  the  bathing  of  boys  on  the  seashore, — we 
shall  recall  that  those  with  the  finest  forms  and  most  grace- 
ful movements  invariably  attracted  our  attention  and  won 
our  admiration,  no  matter  how  ugly  may  have  been  their 
countenances.  In  such  circumstances,  we  scarcely  seem  to 
notice  countenances  at  all.  .  .  .  Many  beautiful  forms  that 
served  as  models  for  the  Greek  artists  were  undoubtedly 
surmounted  by  ugly  faces.  The  Greek  did  not  believe 
in  ugliness  anywhere;  and  for  this  reason,  in  place  of  the 
faces  that  he  found,  he  may  have  substituted  his  conven- 
tional face,  probably  itself  a  copy  of  some  face  which  com- 
mon opinion  had  pronounced  beautiful.  Moreover,  by 
using  this  face  and  no  other,  he  would  avoid  giving  offense 
to  those  who  might  desire  to  have  him  reproduce  their 
countenances  as  well  as  forms.  Besides  this,  too,  large 
numbers  of  his  statues  represented  gods,  and  it  would 
scarcely  have  been  considered  appropriate  had  he  repre- 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  353 

sented  these  by  using  a  literal  portrait  of  a  living  person. 
Once  more,  it  must  not  be  supposed,  even  though  it  be 
admitted  that  the  Greek  used  models  freely,  that  he  was 
often  content  to  have  all  the  parts  of  any  one  statue  literally 
reproduce  all  the  parts  of  any  one  model.  On  the  contrary, 
the  history  of  the  best  period  of  his  art  is  a  record  of  changes 
in  forms,  as  these  were  developed  with  more  or  less  gradual- 
ness,  the  one  from  the  other.  .  .  .  There  is  another  considera- 
tion which,  in  studying  the  proportions  of  the  human  body, 
necessitates  taking  the  observation  of  nature  for  the  point 
of  departure.  This  is  the  fact  that  different  forms  of  men, 
even  when  conforming  to  accepted  standards,  or  conforming 
sufficiently  to  be  all  equally  well  proportioned,  differ  in 
their  measurements.  .  .  .  Such  variations  may  be  ascribable 
to  differences  not  only  in  occupation,  age,  and  sex,  but  also 
in  temperament, — the  mental,  the  vital,  and  the  motive 
which  are  respectively  expressive  of  very  different  intel- 
lectual and  physical  traits,  each  tending  to  a  different  general 
contour. — Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color,  vii. 

SCULPTURE,    SUBJECTS    OF    {see    PAINTING    l'^.     SCULPTURE, 

THEIR  subjects). 

SCULPTURE  SUGGESTING  MOVEMENT. 

Statuary  is  the  representation  of  arrested  movement,  not 
of  movement  in  itself;  and  to  work  upon  the  supposition 
that  it  is  the  latter  is  to  deviate  from  the  legitimate  purpose 
of  the  art.  At  the  same  time,  the  statue  must  suggest  that 
some  movement  has  taken  place  or  is  to  do  so.  The  opposite 
tendency  can  be  made  too  prominent  only  at  the  expense  of 
impressions  of  intelligibility  and  animation.  That  which 
was  meant  for  a  statue  will  then  become,  like  many  of  the 
monuments  of  our  public  men,  merely  an  effigy, — as  if, 
forsooth,  its  object  were  to  remind  one,  above  all  things, 
that  the  man  is  dead! — The  Representative  Significance  of 
Form,  XXIV. 

SELECTION,  IN  ART  WORK. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  things  in  this  world  is  an 
ant-hill.  We  come  upon  it  in  a  grass-plot,  or  a  rocky  waste, 
or  a  field  of  loam  of  a  certain  hue  or  texture,  and  it  usually 
consists  of  a  gathering  together,  grain  by  grain,  of  materials 
and  colors  not  interesting  in  themselves,  yet  made  so  by 
being  selected  from  surrounding  ones.  Man  has  a  way  of 
making  things  interesting  through  an  exercise  of  a  similar 
33 


354  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

faculty  of  selection.  That  from  which  he  selects  usually 
comprises  two  elements — substance  and  appearance;  more 
strictly,  substance  not  having  form  and  substance  having 
it,  or  needing  to  be  made  to  have  it  in  order  to  be  that  for 
which  it  is  of  value.  It  is  with  this  latter,  with  substance 
having  form,  that  art  is  concerned. — Essay  on  Teaching  in 
Drawing. 

SENTIMENT  CHARACTERISTIC  OF  ART-APPRECIATION  {sec  dlso 
ARTISTIC  natures). 

A  slight  attempt  to  recall  the  foremost  trait  of  expres- 
sion distinguishing  any  man  who  has  given  himself  to  the 
study  and  production  of  art  will  verify  by  facts  this  con- 
clusion of  Schiller.  Is  it  not  true  that  artists  and  poets, 
and  often  even  mere  admirers  of  music,  painting,  sculp- 
ture, or  poetry,  are  persons  given  above  all  things  to 
sentiment?  Can  we  not  perceive  this  sometimes  in  their 
very  gaits  and  gestures,  in  the  involuntary  waverings  of 
their  lips,  in  the  unconscious  bewilderment  of  their  eyes? 
Does  not  the  very  sight  of  them  often  make  us  feel  that 
they  are  men  who  have  been  exhilarated,  if  not  intoxi- 
cated, by  drinking  in  thoughts  that  brim  above  the  com- 
monplace; that  they  are  men  whose  moods  are  loyal  to 
an  all-pervading  sovereignty  of  soul?  Can  we  not  often 
detect,  behind  all  that  they  do  or  say,  the  spiritual  force 
of  unseen  ideality,  the  unselfishness  of  non-material  pur- 
pose, the  virtue  of  uncompelled  industry,  the  enthusiasm 
that  revels  amid  dim  twilights  of  inquiry  and  starry  mid- 
nights of  aspiration?  How  different  is  their  mien  from 
that  of  those  who  manifest  none  of  their  vaguer,  softer 
qualities,  but  pride  themselves  upon  the  fact  that  they 
are  sharp!  And,  verily,  too  often  they  are  sharp,  their 
very  visages  whittled  to  a  point  like  snow-ploughs  on  a 
wintry  track  that  always  draw  attention  downward  and 
cleave  through  paths  that  chill.  The  brightness  of  their 
eyes  is  that  of  diamonds  that  are  used  only  to  cut,  the 
summons  of  their  voices  that  of  trumpets  that  are  ever 
blowing  of  their  own  sufficiency.  No  radiance  of  a  spiritual 
light  that  streams  from  inward  visions  is  haloed  from 
the  one.  No  call  toward  a  sphere  too  subtle  to  be  heralded 
by  aught  except  "the  still  small  voice"  is  echoed  from  the 
other.  What  is  lacking  in  the  methods  of  mental  action  of 
men  like  these,  as  every  one  who  knows  the  highest  possi- 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  355 

bill  ties  of  art  can  testify,  is  the  kind  of  culture  which  leads 
to  the  conception  within  and  the  expression  without  of 
sentiment — not  sentimentality,  which  is  always  selfish,  as 
well  as  a  caricature,  and  an  effect  not  based  upon  facts;  but 
vigorous  rranly  sentiment,  something  rooted  deep  in  com- 
mon-sense but  yet  not  common;  rather  its  uncommon 
development  when  the  material  branch  and  leaf,  grown  up- 
ward, burst  into  that  which  sheds  the  fragrance  of  the 
spirit's  flower. — Essentials  of  Msthetics,  iii. 

SERENADE. 

It  is  mainly,  too,  by  the  contrast  afforded  between  a 
realm  known  only  to  the  soul  and  one  apprehended  only 
by  the  senses;  by  the  transition  from  the  subjectivity 
of  dreaming  to  the  objectivity  of  listening,  that  such 
transcendent  sweetness  is  sometimes  imparted  to  the 
serenade  at  midnight,  and  also  to  the  songs  of  the  birds 
at  daybreak. — The  Representative  Significance  of  Form,  xii. 

SIGNIFICANCE  AND  FORM  IN  ART  (sce  also  FORM  AND  SIG- 
NIFICANCE, also  FORM  VS.  significance). 
Art  involves  the  representation  not  merely  of  significance 
nor  merely  of  form;  and  those  who  wish  to  further  its 
interests  cannot  do  so  by  directing  the  energies  of  the  artist 
exclusively  to  either.  The  captain  of  a  yawl  tossed  by 
ocean  waves  might  as  well  urge  every  one  on  board  of  it 
to  rush  to  one  side  of  it  or  to  the  other,  and  expect  to  reach 
his  landing  without  capsizing. — Painting,  Sculpture,  and 
Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,  XV. 

The  two  tendencies  of  art  thus  exemplified,  and  the 
constant  inclination  of  the  mind,  when  perceiving  the 
deficiency  in  the  one,  to  turn  altogether  away  from  it  to  that 
which,  when  regarded  in  itself  alone,  causes  equal  deficiency 
in  the  other,  make  one  feel,  at  times,  as  if  it  were  wellnigh 
hopeless  to  try,  as  has  been  attempted  in  these  volumes,  to 
introduce  into  the  conceptions  of  American  artists  and 
critics  even  a  beginning  of  that  balance  between  the  two 
which  always  characterizes  the  highest  art, — that  of  ancient 
Hellenism,  for  instance,  which  was  equally  careful  to  repro- 
duce only  the  ideal  in  thought  and  only  the  beautiful  in 
form.  I  have  concluded  that  nothing  could  more  certainly 
accomplish  the  desired  end  than  a  practical  recognition  of 
the  relationship  of  art  both  to  religion  on  the  one  hand  and 
to  science  on  the  other,  together  with  a  recognition  of  the 


356  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

natural  limitations  to  art  which  such  a  double  relationship 
necessarily  involves. — The  Representative  Significance  of 
Form,  Preface. 

Depending  partly  upon  outward  form,  which  mainly 
requires  a  practice  of  the  method  pursued  in  classic  art, 
and  partly  upon  the  thought  or  design  embodied  in  the 
form,  which  mainly  requires  a  practice  of  the  method 
pursued  in  romantic  art,  these  artistic  effects  appeal  partly 
to  the  outward  senses  and  partly  to  the  inward  mind;  and 
only  when  they  appeal  to  both  are  the  highest  possibilities 
of  any  art  realized. — Art  in  Theory,  iii. 

We  judge  of  others  by  ourselves.  We  judge  of  their  art 
by  the  art  which  is  possible  to  ourselves.  While  great  art 
requires  great  breadth  of  view  and  distance  of  aim,  the 
majority  of  men  are  not  great.  Their  views  are  narrow, 
and  their  goals  are  near  them.  When  their  attention  is 
directed  to  significance,  they  forget  to  attend  to  the  require- 
ments of  form;  and  when  attention  is  directed  to  form,  they 
forget  about  significance.  That  which  they  themselves  do, 
they  naturally  suppose  that  everybody  must  do.  Human 
nature  being  what  it  is,  they  naturally  come  to  think  too  that 
this  is  what  everybody  ought  to  do.  For,  unless  they  are 
to  admit  that  they,  themselves,  are  not  entitled  to  rank 
with  artists  of  the  foremost  class,  what  can  be  allowed  to 
determine  excellence  in  art  except  their  own  standards? 
At  periods  like  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century,  or 
in  countries  like  England  or  Germany,  where  value  in  art 
is  mainly  thought  to  be  determined  by  significance,  this  is 
that  for  which  they  aim;  and  in  the  degree  in  which  they 
are  forced  to  recognize  that  there  can  be  no  accurate  re- 
production of  appearances  without  thorough  study  of  the 
methods  of  the  best  artists,  and  facility  acquired  by  per- 
sistent practice,  they  will  be  anxious  to  convince  them- 
selves and  to  persuade  others  that  mastery  in  significance 
can  compensate  for  a  lack  of  mastery  in  technique.  On 
the  other  hand,  at  a  period  like  the  present,  and  in  countries 
like  France  and  our  own,  where  value  in  art  is  mainly 
thought  to  be  determined  by  success  in  reproducing  appear- 
ances, they  will  aim  to  do  this;  and,  in  the  degree  in  which 
they  are  forced  to  recognize  that  significance  cannot  be 
given  to  an  art-product  without  great  constructive  exercise 
of  imagination   and  invention,   they   will  be  anxious   to 


'^ QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  357 

believe  for  themselves,  and  to  persuade  the  world,  that 
success  in  technique  can  compensate  for  success  in  render- 
ing the  product  significant.  .  .  .  But  is  it  a  fact  that  attention 
to  significance  is  inconsistent  with  an  equal  degree  of  atten- 
tion given  to  form?  Why  should  this  be  the  case?  In 
poetry  a  metaphor  or  simile  is  not  less  but  more  successful 
in  the  degree  in  which  to  the  representation  of  the  thought 
involved  it  adds  fidelity  to  the  scene  in  nature  by  a  com- 
parison with  which  this  thought  is  represented. — Paintings 
Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,  xiii. 

SIGNIFICANCE,    AN   ELEMENT   OF   THE   FORM   DEVELOPED   BY 

ART. 

The  general,  if  not  the  aesthetic,  public,  upon  whose 
judgment  the  rank  of  the  art-work  must  ultimately  depend, 
know  and  care  little  about  technique,  except  so  far  as  it 
has  enabled  the  artist  to  secure  for  his  product  a  certain 
satisfactory  representative  effect.  But  this  effect  depends 
in  some  cases  as  much  upon  what  may  be  termed  the 
expressional  norm  chosen  for  the  nucleus  of  development, 
as  upon  the  method  of  its  development;  in  other  words, 
as  much  upon  that  which  is  significant  in  the  work  as  upon 
that  which  is  excellent  in  its  form.  Successful  art  is  always 
the  insignia  with  which  the  play-impulse  decorates  that 
which,  before  the  decoration,  has  shown  in  practical  relations 
its  right  to  receive  it.  Just  as  a  successful  drama  is  an 
artistic  development  of  imagination  at  play  with  the 
words  of  natural  conversation;  so  a  successful  melody  is 
a  development  of  the  same  at  play  with  the  intonations  of 
natural  conversation;  and  a  successful  picture,  of  the  same 
at  play  with  the  outlines  and  colors  of  natural  scenes. 
What  imagination  does  is  to  elaborate  the  form,  this 
being  accomplished  in  our  own  day  through  carrying  out 
the  laws  of  complicated  systems  of  rhythm,  harmony, 
drawing,  or  coloring.  But  the  forms  that  art,  if  high  art, 
in  each  case  elaborates,  are  forms  of  expressing  thought 
and  emotion. — Idem,  Preface. 

SIGNIFICANCE    IN    ART    {see   also   FORM    AND    SIGNIFICANCE). 

By  significance  in  art  is  meant  its  mental  as  distinguished 
from  its  material  effects,  whether  these  material  effects 
be  produced  by  the  external  form  itself,  or  by  the  image 
of  this  form  which  reflectively  appears  in  imagination; 
and  thought  and  emotion  are  effects  as  inseparable  in 


358  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

mental  experience  as  perception  and  feeling  are  in  the 
experience  of  the  senses.  Indeed,  in  the  term  humanities, 
so  often  applied  to  the  arts,  we  may  recognize  a  conception 
equally  suggestive  of  the  sources  of  understanding  and  of 
sympathy.  These  arts  address  not  only  the  senses  and 
the  sense-influenced  imagination,  but,  through  them,  the 
whole  range  of  the  mind's  activities. — The  Representative 
Significance  of  Form,  i. 

SIGNIFICANCE  IN  ART-FORM 

Thoughts  and  emotions  are  stirred  to  activity  when  the 
eye  perceives  objects,  just  as  inevitably  as  rays  of  light 
surround  a  match  when  it  is  struck.  Inseparably,  in  such 
cases  two  elements  of  interest  are  present.  One  is  the 
result  of  the  effect  perceived  by  the  eye;  the  other,  of  the 
effect  experienced  in  the  mind.  This  latter  effect  consists 
of  imaginative  processes  which,  according  to  the  methods 
unfolded  in  Chapter  I.,  are  suggested  by  way  of  association 
or  of  comparison.  It  is  when  faces  appear  to  be  thinking 
or  feeHng  something,  when  figures,  alone  or  in  connection 
with  other  figures,  appear  to  be  doing  something,  when 
fields,  houses,  hills,  waves,  clouds,  give  indications  of  cul- 
ture, comfort,  convulsion,  storm,  or  sunshine,  whatever  it 
may  be, — it  is  then,  and  in  the  exact  degree  in  which  this 
is  so,  that  the  objects  in  connection  with  which  we  have 
these  suggestions  prove  most  interesting.  The  worth  of  a 
diamond  is  measured  by  the  quantity  and  quality  of  the 
light  emitted  by  it.  The  worth  of  an  object  of  perception 
is  measured  by  the  quantity  and  quality  of  "that  light 
which  never  was  on  sea  or  land" — in  other  words,  by  the 
amount  and  character  of  thought  and  emotion  which  it 
awakens. 

If  this  be  so — and  who  can  deny  itP^why  does  it  not 
follow  that  the  art  which  represents  these  visible  objects 
can  be  successful  in  the  degree  only  in  which  it  represents 
also  the  thought  or  emotion  upon  which  so  much  of  their 
interest  depends?  Such  certainly  must  be  the  conclusion 
of  all  except  those  who  pretend  to  hold  a  theory  which 
even  they  themselves  do  not  seem  to  understand,  namely 
that,  given  the  art-form,  the  art-thought  appropriate 
for  it  will  be  suggested  necessarily.  As  a  critic  of  "Art  in 
Theory"  took  occasion  to  say:  "Art  is  simply,  wholly, 
and   entirely   a   matter   of   form.  .  .  .   The   best   critical 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  359 

opinion,  nowadays,  assumes  the  identity  of  the  art-form 
with  the  art-meaning."  The  only  trouble  with  this  an- 
swer is  that,  in  the  sense  in  which  one  would  naturally 
interpret  it,  it  is  not  true.  All  art-significance  must  be 
expressed  through  art-form;  but  precisely  the  same  natural 
form  selected  for  art-imitation  may  convey  a  very  different 
quality  of  significance  according  to  the  treatment  given  it 
by  the  artist.  One  thing  that  he  can  always  do,  is  to 
arrange  features  so  as  to  make  them  express  what  he  wishes 
them  to  express.  It  is  always  possible  for  him  to  analyze 
and  separate  a  form  charming  in  itself  from  a  significance 
which  could  make  it  still  more  charming.  He  can  paint  a 
face  in  such  a  passive  condition  that  it  will  appear  to  have 
no  mind  behind  it;  or  he  can  rouse  his  model  to  reflection 
or  laughter,  or  imagine  for  himself  the  results  of  these,  and 
transfer  from  the  face  to  his  canvas  only  such  colors  and 
outlines  as  give  one  a  glimpse  of  the  soul.  Still  more  can 
he  do  the  same  when  it  is  possible,  in  accordance  with  the 
principles  of  pantomime,  to  arrange  for  his  purposes  the 
pose  of  the  whole  figure;  and  the  result  may  be  rendered 
yet  more  effective  through  the  opportunities  afforded  by 
the  mutual  relations,  each  to  each,  which  may  be  indicated 
through  the  poses  of  several  figures.  The  same  principle 
applies  also  to  landscapes.  It  is  one  thing  to  represent  the 
material  effects  of  sunshine  and  storm,  and  another  thing  to 
represent  their  mental  effects, — the  effects  which  they  have 
upon  the  imagination;  and  a  painter  can  content  himself 
with  doing  the  first,  or,  if  he  choose,  he  can  do  both.  This 
is  not  to  say  that,  if  he  do  merely  the  former,  his  product 
will  have  no  significance.  Wherever  there  is  form  there 
is  some  significance,  if  only  because  there  is  a  lack  of  it. 
What  is  meant  by  the  ground  taken  in  this  paragraph  is 
that  unless  the  artist  have  it  in  mind  to  represent  signifi- 
cance, his  work,  as  a  rule,  will  reveal  only  such  as  is  of  trifling 
importance,  such  as  has  no  distinctive  meaning;  and  art 
that  is  not  distinctive  in  a  direction  in  which  it  might  be 
so,  is  not  art  of  a  high  quality. — Paintings  Sculpture^  and 
Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,  xiii. 

SIGNIFICANCE  IN  PAINTING. 

,  The  world  in  general  judges  of  subjects  by  the  possibilities 
of  significance  in  them.  There  are  both  greater  opportunity 
and  necessity   for  manifesting  thought   and   emotion   in 


36o  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

connection  with  a  landscape  than  with  a  dish  of  fruit  or  a 
vase  of  flowers;  and  in  connection  with  human  figures  than 
with  landscapes.  Of  course,  many  pictures  of  fruits  and 
flowers  are  superior,  as  works  of  art,  to  many  pictures  of 
human  figures;  but  in  case  of  equal  skill  displayed  in  the 
representation  of  form,  the  art- work  ranks  highest  which 
necessitates  thought  and  emotion  of  the  highest  quality. 
This  principle  enables  us  to  rank  as  subjects  not  only 
flowers  and  fruits  below  landscapes,  and  landscapes  below 
human  figures,  but  to  rank  below  others  certain  products 
representing  exactly  the  same  objects.  For  instance, 
flowers,  oranges,  grapes,  apples,  or  wine  or  beer  in  a  glass, 
■ — all  these  may  be  portrayed  so  skillfully  as  to  be  exceedingly 
artistic.  But  it  is  easy  to  perceive  that  the  appeal  of  the 
picture  as  a  thing  of  significance  may  be  differently  deter- 
mined by  different  circumstances.  A  vase  of  flowers 
represented  as  being  in  a  room  upon  the  sill  of  a  closed 
window,  beyond  which,  outside  the  house,  can  be  seen 
snowdrifts  and  frost-laden  trees ;  or  fruits  and  viands  repre- 
sented as  heaped  upon  a  table  where  nevertheless  a  half- 
empty  plate  and  glass  and  an  unfolded  napkin  give  evidence 
that  some  one  has  already  partaken  of  all  that  he  wishes, 
with,  perhaps,  a  window  near  by,  through  which  a  half- 
starved  face  of  a  child  is  wistfully  peering, — arrangements 
like  these,  or  hundreds  of  a  similar  character,  which  might 
be  thought  out  or  felt  out,  would  put  thought  and  emotion 
into  the  picture;  and  thus  make  it  representative  of  these. 
Can  anybody  deny  that  pictures  thus  made  significant  by 
means  of  arrangement,  if  equally  well  executed,  would  rank 
higher  than  pictures  merely  imitative? — Essentials  of 
JEstheticSy  vii. 


When  we  see  a  party  of  children,  we  may  be  interested 
in  them  on  account  of  the  symmetrical  outlines  of  their 
forms,  or  of  the  glow  of  health  in  their  faces.  But  there 
are  other  considerations  that  may  increase  our  interest. 
One  is  the  fact  that  we  see  them  doing  something  which 
their  actions  indicate.  Another  is  that  they  are  expressing 
something  which  their  countenances  indicate;  and,  still 
another,  that  they  are  children  whom  we  know  and  love. 
Nor  is  it  true  that  any  of  these  latter  considerations,  which 
increase  our  interest,  necessarily  interfere  with  the  degree 


^QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  361 

of  interest  excited  in  us  by  their  grace  or  beauty  of  form. — 
Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts, 

XV. 

A  picture  of  a  child  represents  by  way  of  association  any 
child,  and  therefore  causes  a  mother,  upon  seeing  it,  to 
recall  instinctively  her  own  child,  and,  doing  so,  to  take 
an  interest  in  it.  But  in  the  degree  in  which  the  picture, 
besides  this,  represents  her  child  by  way  of  comparison — ■ 
in  the  degree  in  which  agreement  in  each  detail  of  sex, 
age,  size,  dress,  and  countenance  satisfies  her  critical  reflec- 
tive powers,  in  this  degree  will  the  interest  awakened  in 
her  pass  into  emotion.  The  same  principle  applies  to 
scenery.  Owing  to  their  associations  with  some  particular 
lake  or  mountain,  certain  persons  are  instinctively  interested 
in  a  painting  of  any  lake  or  mountain.  But  the  distinctively 
emotional  effects  of  the  picture  are  always  increased  in  the 
degree  in  which  all  the  details,  the  more  men  reflect  upon 
them,  are  perceived  to  resemble  those  of  the  particular 
lake  or  mountain  with  which  they  have  associated  it.  So 
with  sculpture  and  architecture.  Because  of  the  principle 
of  association,  certain  persons  cannot  avoid  an  instinctive 
tribute  of  reverence  when  they  enter  any  chapel  and  stand 
before  the  statue  of  any  saint.  But  let  the  chapel  or  statue 
either  in  its  general  form  or  in  certain  of  its  details — as  of 
flowers,  leaves,  symbols,  etc., — recall,  distinctly,  by  way 
of  comparison,  that  particular  chapel  or  personality  with 
which  they  associate  it,  and  their  reverence  will  be  the  result 
of  a  deeper  phase  of  emotion.  Thus  we  find  both  logic  and 
experience  confirming  from  a  new  point  of  view  what  was 
said  in  "Art  in  Theory"  with  reference  to  the  importance 
in  high  art  of  having  the  art-form  represent  both  mental 
conceptions — to  represent  which  alone  it  would  need 
merely  to  suggest  a  certain  association  of  ideas — and  also 
audible  or  visible  material  phenomena,  to  represent  which 
alone,  it  would  need  merely  to  manifest  imitation. — Idem,  i. 

"He  is  what  I  call  a  vulgar  painter,"  said  a  critic,  some 
time  ago,  when  speaking  of  an  artist.  "Are  you  getting 
ethical  in  your  tastes?"  was  asked.  "Not  that,"  he 
answered,  "but  don't  you  remember  that  picture  of  a  little 
girl  by  Sargent  in  the  National  Academy  Exhibition  last 
year?  You  couldn't  glance  at  it,  in  the  most  superficial 
way,  without  recognizing  at  once  that  it  was  a  child  of  high- 


362  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

toned,  probably  intellectual,  spiritually-minded,  aristo- 
cratic parentage  and  surroundings.  Now,  if  the  man  of 
whom  I  was  speaking  had  painted  that  child,  he  could 
not  have  kept  from  making  her  look  like  a  coarse-haired, 
hide-skinned  peasant."  It  is  easy  to  perceive  that,  if 
this  criticism  were  justifiable,  the  fault  indicated  would 
be  largely  owing  to  the  failure  of  the  artist  to  recognize 
the  thoughts  and  feelings  that  men  naturally  associate 
with  certain  appearances  of  line  and  color.  It  would 
be  largely  owing  to  the  fact  that  he  had  never  learned 
that  the  round,  ruddy  form  of  the  vital  temperament  that 
blossoms  amid  the  breeze  and  sunshine  of  the  open  field 
has  a  very  different  significance  from  the  more  complex 
and  delicate  curves  and  colors  that  appear  where  the 
nervous  temperament  is  ripened  behind  the  sheltering 
window-panes  of  the  study.  An  artist  believing  in  sig- 
nificance merely  enough  to  recognize  the  necessity  of 
representing  it  in  some  way  could,  with  a  very  few  thrusts 
of  his  knife,  to  say  nothing  of  his  brush,  at  one  and  the 
same  time  relieve  the  inflammation  of  chapped  cheeks, 
and  inject  into  the  veins  some  of  the  blue  blood  of  aristo- 
cracy.— Essentials  of  Esthetics,  v. 

SIGNIFICANCE  IN  POETRY. 

Think  of  the  literary  prospects  of  a  country,  of  the 
possibilities  of  its  receiving  any  inspiring  impulses  from  its 
poets  at  a  period  when  new  authors,  writing  with  the 
acknowledged  motive  of  Dante,  Milton,  or  Wordsworth, 
would,  for  this  reason  and  for  no  other  reason,  fail  to  com- 
mend themselves  to  the  leaders  of  literary  opinion!  Yet 
one  who  has  followed  the  views  expressed  in  what  may  be 
termed  the  professional  critical  journals  of  our  country, 
would  not  be  far  astray  in  claiming  that  this  accurately 
describes  our  own  condition.  The  same  France  from 
which  we  have  derived  the  notion  that  significance  is  not 
essential  to  painting,  has  also  taught  us,  and  the  lesson 
has  been  accepted  and  subtly  assimilated  so  as  to  become, 
almost  unconsciously  to  ourselves,  a  part  of  the  literary 
belief  of  some  of  us,  that  it  is  not  essential,  either,  to  poetry. 
In  fact.  Max  Nordau's  statement  in  "Degeneration," 
that  "The  theory  of  the  importance  of  form,  of  the  intrinsic 
value  of  beauty  in  the  sound  of  words,  of  the  sensuous 
pleasure  to  be  derived  from  sonorous  syllables  without 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  363 

regard  to  their  sense,  and  of  the  uselessness  and  even  harm- 
fulness  of  thought  in  poetry  has  become  decisive  in  the 
most  recent  development  of  poetry,"  could  be  applied  to 
France  not  only  but  to  our  own  country.  .  .  . 

The  reason  why  such  writers  fail  to  comprehend  that 
which  is  true  of  representative  significance,  is  easy  enough 
to  understand.  Art  is  a  complex  subject.  Significance  is 
no  more  essential  in  it  than  is  technique;  and  the  mere 
rudiments  of  this  it  takes  years  to  master.  As  both  Goethe 
and  Longfellow  have  told  us,  the  pathway  to  art,  even  if 
by  this  we  mean  merely  the  art  of  versifying,  or  of  coloring 
with  proficiency,  is  long.  Unfortunately  for  many  it  is  so 
very  long  that  before  they  are  fairly  in  sight  of  its  termi- 
nation they  have  apparently  lost  sight  of  everything  else. — 
Paintings  Sculpture  and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts, 
Preface. 

SIGNIFICANCE   NECESSARY   IN  ART. 

Effects,  though  beautiful  in  nature,  are  wrongly  used  in 
the  highest  art,  if  they  be  used  on  the  supposition  that, 
even  in  their  most  insignificant  features,  they  are  not 
vehicles  of  expression.  A  painting  ranks  higher  than  a 
photograph  and  a  play  than  a  phonograph  mainly  because 
one  can  read  the  thought,  share  the  emotion,  and  sym- 
pathize with  the  purpose  behind  not  only  its  general  con- 
ception but  every  minutest  part — every  line  or  word — 
through  which  the  conception  is  presented.  It  is  illogical 
to  argue  that  this  fact  does  not  rule  out  of  the  domain  of 
high  art  a  very  large  proportion  of  what  artists  and  critics 
of  less  delicate  aesthetic  sensibility — not  to  say  sense — 
fancy  that  some  cannot  stomach  merely  because  they  have 
no  artistic  taste. — The  Essentials  of  Esthetics,  xviii. 

SIGNIFICANCE  VS.  THE  FORM  IN  ART. 

There  is  a  clear  distinction,  the  recognition  of  which  is 
philosophically  essential,  between  the  effects  of  a  form 
physically  fitted  to  produce  a  certain  physiological  result  in 
the  ear  or  the  eye,  as  do  some  of  the  phenomena  of  tone 
or  of  color,  or  else  artistically  fitted  to  produce  a  certain 
psychological  result  or  image  in  imagination, — there  is  a 
clear  distinction  between  these  effects  and  the  implicit  or 
suggestive,  rather  than  explicit  or  arbitrary,  effects  upon 
thought  or  emotion,  which,  invariably,  when  the  mind 
perceives  art's  real  or  imagined  outlines,  seem  to  surround 


364  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

these  outlines  as  by  a  halo.  This  halo  of  thoughts  and 
emotions  surrounding  the  natural  form  as  represented  in 
the  art-product,  or  surrounding  the  image  of  this  product 
as  represented  in  imagination,  constitutes  what  will  be 
termed  the  representative  significance. — The  Representative 
Significance  of  Form,  i. 

It  is  not  significance  that  makes  a  picture  ordinary:  this 
merely  makes  it  a  picture  rather  than  a  product  of  decora- 
tive art.  That  which  makes  it  ordinary  is  the  form  in 
which  the  significance  is  presented.  To  change  a  theological 
essay  into  a  "Paradise  Lost,"  it  would  not  be  necessary  to 
drop  the  significance:  that  could  be  kept;  but  it  would  be 
necessary  to  change  the  form. — Essay  on  Art  and  Education. 

SIMPLICITY  AND  COMPLEXITY. 

Simplicity  is  the  door  through  which  alone  intelligence  can 
enter  into  the  complex. — Proportion  and  Harmony,  Preface. 

SINCERITY  IN  ART  {sce  ARCHITECTURE,  FRAUD  IN,  and 

ornament). 

The  term  sincerity  indicates  one's  conception  that  the 
artist  has  employed  material  which  really  is  what  it  seems  to 
be, — wood,  if  it  seem  wood;  stone,  if  it  seem  stone;  iron,  if 
it  seem  iron.  Sincerity  even  discards,  at  times,  the  use 
of  paint,  on  the  ground  that  it  conceals  the  genuine  sub- 
stance. So,  too,  owing  in  part  also  to  the  intrinsic  beauty 
of  the  graining  of  almost  any  kind  of  wood,  the  same 
principle  has  led  to  a  method  of  finishing  this  so  as  to  reveal 
its  natural  character.  It  is  useless  to  do  more  than  point 
out  that,  as  illustrated  in  all  these  cases,  sincerity  is  merely 
one  way  of  applying  the  broader  general  principle  that 
architecture  should  represent  nature. — Painting,  Sculpture, 
and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,  xxi. 
singing  together. 

Do  you  know  that  there  is  a  theory  that  the  tendency  of 
singing  is  to  cause  the  hearts  and  pulses  of  all  those  joining 
in  the  music,  even  listening  to  it,  to  beat  in  unison? — to 
cause  the  currents  of  life  in  the  veins,  nerves,  brains,  even 
souls  of  those  affected  by  it,  to  move  according  to  similar 
methods? — in  fact,  to  produce  an  inner  as  well  as  an  outer 
harmony. — Suggestions  for  the  Spiritual  Life,  xx. 
singleness  of  aim  in  art. 

Even  though  one  be  not  a  German,  then,  he  may  be 
inclined  to  think,  at  times,  that  there  is  philosophy  as 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  365 

well  as  comfort  in  the  German's  way  of  listening  to  classic 
music  in  a  plain  beer-hall,  with  the  outlines  of  that  but 
half  revealed  behind  the  fumes  of  tobacco.  We  may  con- 
clude, too,  that  there  is  artistic  tact  as  well  as  adherence 
to  custom  in  the  twilight  vesper  services  of  the  cathedral, 
where  the  choir  is  hidden  in  the  gallery,  and  about  one  is 
nothing  distinctly  visible  save  the  mighty  arches  of  the 
nave  looming  in  misty  forms  above,  and  the  vague  outlines 
of  the  multitude  bowing  beneath  it.  .  .  .  Art,  like  everything 
else  that  is  human,  is  effective,  for  one  thing,  in  the  degree 
in  which  its  efforts  are  directed  toward  one  aim  that  is 
made  distinct  and  separate  from  all  else  whatever,  whether 
appealing  to  the  ear  or  to  the  eye.  Why  could  there  not 
be,  if  not  a  style,  at  least  a  mode  of  rendering  music  in 
the  future,  which  should  be  to  that  of  the  present  what 
the  most  thrilling  choral  of  the  cathedral  is  to  the  most 
trivial  chorus  of  the  barroom? — The  Representative  Signifi- 
cance of  Forniy  xxvi. 

SKILL,  HOW   ACQUIRED  {see  also  DRILL,  INSPIRED,  THE,   AND 
THE  ARTISTIC,  and  PRACTICE,  ITS  EFFECTS). 

Skill  can  be  acquired  only  through  practice;  and  this 
practice,  like  that  of  one  learning  to  play  on  a  musical 
instrument,  always  involves  thought  and  labor  expended 
not  upon  completed  results  but  upon  certain  analyzed 
elements. — Essay  on  Artistic  vs.  Scientific  Education. 

SKILL  WITH  REVISION  NEEDED   IN   ART. 

Those  who  confound  religious  with  what  is  termed  artistic 
inspiration,  will  almost  necessarily  estimate  musicians, 
actors,  poets,  orators,  and  even  sculptors,  painters,  and 
architects  by  the  unconscious  facility  which  they  manifest 
in  conception  and  execution.  But,  though  owing  to  the 
pliability  of  his  conscious  nature  to  subconscious  influence, 
the  artist  does,  in  certain  moods,  manifest  this  facility,  it 
is  not  too  much  to  say  that  no  product  of  genius  has  ever, 
even  in  such  moods,  sustained  itself  on  a  high,  artistic 
level,  except  as  a  result  of  much  previous  study  and  practice 
which  has  developed  skill;  nor,  even  then,  has  work  thus 
produced  been  able  to  satisfy  the  highest  demands  of  art, 
unless  it  has  been  very  carefully  and  consciously  revised. 
This  is  a  fact  essential  to  recognize,  but  very  difficult  to  get 
into  the  minds  either  of  the  young  who  wish  to  become 
artists,   or  of  the  general  public,  or  even  of  critics  upon 


366  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

whom  both  artists  and  the  public  depend  for  instruction. — 
The  Representative  Significance  of  Form,  vii. 

SKY-SCRAPERS     {see     also     ARCHITECTURE,     EXPRESSIVE     OF 
CHARACTER,    and    MORALITY    AS    INFLUENCED    BY 

architecture). 

No  one  can  deny  that  it  is  representative.  The  trouble  is 
that  it  does  not  represent  what  is  agreeable  or  inspiring.  It 
represents,  alas,  New  York.  It  represents  the  commercial 
spirit  entirely  overtopping  the  aesthetic  and  sanitary  in 
general;  and  the  religious  and  domestic,  as  manifested  by 
the  church  and  house  to  the  left,  in  particular.  In  more 
senses  than  one  it  represents  selfishness  and  greed,  en- 
tirely throwing  into  the  shade  beauty,  health,  kindness, 
rationality,  and  safety.  Were  it  possible  for  any  artistic 
motive  to  appeal  to  our  legislatures,  they  would  pass  laws 
enabling  owners  of  churches  and  houses  afflicted  as  are 
these  at  the  left  of  this  picture,  to  obtain  from  any  one 
erecting  a  building  like  the  tall  one,  damages  of  an  amount 
to  render  its  erection  impossible.  Beautiful  building  as  it 
is,  considered  only  in  itself,  it  makes  worse  than  wasted 
every  penny  ever  expended  for  the  purpose  of  giving  the 
adjoining  buildings  architectural  dignity  or  value. 

Of  course,  nobody  can  imagine  that  our  legislators  will 
ever  be  influenced  by  aesthetic  considerations.  But  they 
might  be  reached  by  other  considerations.  To  say  nothing 
of  preventing  risk  to  life  through  earthquake  or  conflagra- 
tion in  edifices,  fireproof  too  often  only  in  name,  some 
law  should  be  found  to  prevent  robbing  one's  near  neighbors 
of  sunshine  and  health,  as  well  as  one's  distant  neighbors  of 
real  estate  values,  which  a  less  grasping  appropriation  of  for- 
tunately situated  lots  would  distribute  more  generally.  In 
fact,  the  conditions  are  such  that  it  would  not  be  strange 
if,  at  no  distant  date,  the  practical  and  moral  aspects  of  the 
subject,  aside  from  the  aesthetic,  would  so  appeal  to  public 
sentiment  that  offices  and  hotels  in  these  high  buildings 
would  be  as  much  avoided  as  now  they  are  sought. 

It  may  be  urged  that  high  building  cannot  be  prevented 
in  this  country,  because  it  is  free.  But  it  is  not  free — for 
those  who  interfere  with  even  the  convenience,  not  to  say 
the  rights,  of  others.  There  is  a  law  in  certain  states  of 
Germany  that  no  fagade  can  be  higher  than  the  width  of 
the  street  which  it  faces.     Some  such  law  passed  in  our 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  367 

own  States,  in  order  to  secure  health  and  safety,  would  do 
this  not  only,  but  probably  attain  also  the  desired  aesthetic 
end.  Architects,  assured  that  no  building  could  exceed 
a  certain  height,  would  be  quite  certain  to  prevent  other 
buildings  from  overtopping  their  own,  by  seeing  that 
theirs  were  carried  up  to  the  exact  limits  of  possibility. 
Were  this  done,  our  streets  would  have  a  uniform  sky- 
line. Meantime,  while  legislation  falters,  why  should  not 
the  aesthetic  considerations  influence  individuals?  Why 
should  not  those  interested  in  the  development  of  new 
streets  have  introduced  into  the  deeds  sold  a  prescribed 
height  beyond  which  facades  should  not  be  carried?  Or, 
to  enlarge  the  question,  and  this  in  a  practical  direction, 
why  should  not  trustees  of  institutions  of  learning  pass 
laws  prescribing  not  only  the  sky-line,  but  the  color  and 
style  of  new  buildings  erected  by  benefactors. — Paintings 
Sculpture^  and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,  xix. 

SMALL  CAUSES  OF  GREAT  RESULTS. 

A  wave  breaking  upon  the  seacoast  with  its  spray  dash- 
ing up  to  sparkle  in  the  sunshine  has  a  grand  and  beautiful 
effect.  But  what  makes  the  wave? — An  innumerable 
number  of  little  springs  hidden  in  obscure  places  in  the 
mountains.  In  the  little  springs  there  are  no  waves.  But 
there  would  be  none  anywhere,  were  it  not  for  the  cumula- 
tive effects  of  all  the  springs  together.  So  with  great 
achievements  in  art.  They  are  the  cumulative  effects  of 
little  degrees  of  knowledge  and  skill,  started  in  thousands 
of  obscure  places,  and  apparently  wasted  as  they  sink  into 
depths  of  greater  obscurity.  Special  attainments  in  this 
world  are  based,  as  a  rule,  upon  general  attainments.  That 
which  towers  high  must  have  broad  foundations. — Essay 
on  Teaching  in  Drawing. 

SMALL  PERFECTION  NECESSARY  FOR  GREAT  PRODUCTS. 

Probably,  Homer  would  not  have  stood  where  he  does  in 
the  history  of  poetry,  had  he  not  spent  his  entire  mature 
life  in  traveling  about  the  country,  and  repeating  and, 
therefore,  constantly  and  inevitably  revising  his  Iliad  and 
Odyssey.  In  fact,  as  every  artist — but,  unfortunately 
not  every  critic — knows,  it  is  largely  in  the  subtle  small 
points  that  a  superior  production  differs  from  an  inferior 
one.  It  is  these  that  determine  the  quality  of  the  work, 
that  make  it  fine-grained,  and  cause  the  difference  between 


368  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

the  products  of  a  master  and  of  an  amateur.  The  great 
logician  never  drops  a  single  link  that  will  strengthen  the 
chain  of  his  argument.  The  melody  and  rhythm  of  every 
line  of  the  great  poem  pulse  with  the  living  presence  of  the 
artistic  ideal  that  inspires  the  whole.  The  great  painting 
can  stand  the  test  of  the  microscope.  *  *  Turner  never  passes 
his  brush  over  one  thousandth  of  an  inch,"  says  Ruskin, 
*' without  meaning." — Suggestions  for  the  Spiritual  Life,  xiv. 

SPIRIT  OF  THE  AGE,  AS  EXPRESSED  IN  ART  {see  also  GENIUS 

and  SUBCONSCIOUS  mental  action). 
If  there  be  anything  which,  very  often,  the  higher  arts 
are  distinctly  not,  it  is  the  expression  of  the  spirit  of  their 
age.  Greek  architecture  of  the  fourth  century  before 
Christ,  and  Gothic  of  the  thirteenth  after  him,  may  have 
been  this;  although  even  they  were  developments  of  what 
had  been  originated  long  before.  But  all  the  unmodified 
examples  of  Greek  or  Gothic  architecture  produced  since 
then — and  at  certain  periods  they  have  abounded  to  the 
exclusion  of  almost  every  other  style  of  building — have 
been  expressions  not  of  the  age  in  which  they  were  produced, 
but  of  that  long  past  age  in  which  their  models  were  pro- 
duced. The  same  in  principle  is  true  in  all  the  arts.  The 
forms  most  prevalent  in  poetry,  painting,  sculpture,  even  in 
music,  are  always  more  or  less  traditional,  determined, 
that  is,  by  the  artists  of  the  past.  As,  in  its  nature,  the 
traditional  is  not  essentially  different  from  the  historic,  it  is 
doubtful  whether  these  conditions  will  not  continue  in  the 
direct  degree  in  which,  in  the  study  of  art,  this  latter  is 
made  to  dominate;  and  it  is  not  at  all  doubtful  whether  the 
criticism  calling  itself  historic  is  not  belying  its  title  when  .  .  . 
it  ignores  the  historic  fact  that  forms,  which  logically  ought 
to  develop  according  to  the  spirit  of  an  age,  very  often, 
owing  to  a  servitude  to  conventionality  that  interferes  with 
a  free  expression  of  originality,  do  not  so  develop. — Art  in 
Theory  y  Preface. 

spiritual  development  traceable  to  art. 

Nor  is  there  a  statue  or  a  painting  which  depicts  natural 
life,  especially  human  life,  as  we  are  accustomed  in  our  own 
day  to  see  it — yet  notice  that  this  argument  could  not 
apply,  even  remotely,  to  anything  approaching  deformity 
or  vulgarity — but  every  curve  or  color  in  it  seems  to  frame 
at  times  the  soul  of  one  to  be  loved,  not  by  another,  but  by 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  369 

ourselves;  and,  so  far  as  Providence  sends  spiritual  develop- 
ment through  imparting  a  sense  of  sympathy  with  friend, 
brother,  sister,  father,  mother,  wife,  or  child,  there,  in  the 
presence  of  art,  that  development  for  a  while  is  experienced. 
— Essay  on  Art  and  Education. 

SPIRITUAL  IN  ART  RELATED  TO  THE  SUBCONSCIOUS. 

To  say  nothing  of  religion — what  a  revival  of  art  there 
might  be,  in  an  age  which  many  deem  too  materialistic  to 
be  at  all  poetic,  if  only  what  is  unfolded  in  these  pages  with 
reference  to  the  subconscious  and  the  spiritual  could  be 
widely  recognized  to  be  true! — The  Representative  Signifi- 
cance of  Form,  Preface. 

SPIRITUAL  SUGGESTIVENESS  OF  ART. 

Notice  how  important  is  any  agency  that  can  lift  people 
who  have  no  theories  admitting  the  possibility  of  inspiration, 
into  a  practical  realization  of  it.  This  is  what  art  does. 
Through  the  results  of  the  subconscious  mind,  coalescing, 
as  we  shall  find  by-and-by,  with  those  of  the  conscious 
mind,  it  everywhere  surrounds  the  material  with  the  halo  of 
the  spiritual,  causing  the  minds  that  will  not  even  acknow- 
ledge the  existence  of  the  latter,  to  enter  upon  a  practical 
experience  of  it  in  ideas,  and  to  accept,  when  appearing  in 
the  guise  of  imagination,  what  they  would  reject  if  presented 
in  its  own  lineaments.  So  in  an  age  like  our  own,  art  may 
do  a  large  part  of  the  work  peculiar  to  religion.  The  artist 
though  not  a  seer  always  has  within  him  the  possibility  of 
being  the  seer's  assistant.  No  wonder  therefore  that  those 
not  versed  in  making  discriminations  should  identify  the 
poets  with  the  prophets.  Perhaps  the  majority  of  all 
expressions  to  which  we  attribute  inspiration  are,  in  their 
form,  poetical ;  and  there  is  no  truth  so  exalted,  so  infinite, 
eternal,  absolute,  that  the  artist,  by  reproducing  the  forms 
about  him,  cannot  suggest  it  to  imagination;  nor  any  truth 
so  spiritual  and  unfamiliar,  or  capable  of  being  realized 
in  only  so  remote  a  future,  that  he  cannot  present  this 
truth  in  forms  in  which  many  minds,  however  prejudiced 
and  material  their  tendencies,  will  not  be  glad  to  welcome 
it. — Idem,  vii. 

STANDARDS  OF  CRITICISM  {see  CRITICISM,  EFFECTS  OF,  ORIG- 
INALITY AND  ECCENTRICITY,  and  TASTE,  STANDARDS  OF). 

As  a  restdt  of  having  or  acknowledging  no  standard, 
about  all  that  criticism  can  attempt  is  to  observe  a  poem, 
24 


370  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

a  painting,  or  a  building,  and  praise  it,  in  case  it  resembles 
some  other  product  of  a  like  kind — say  by  a  Tennyson,  a 
Corot,  or  some  Greek  or  Gothic  builder — which  has  been 
previously  praised  by  some  other  critic.  Judgments 
formed  according  to  this  method  either  exalt  imitation  in 
production  into  artistic  excellence,  as  well  as  imitation  in 
opinion  into  critical  acumen;  or  else,  because  there  seems 
some  defect  in  such  conceptions,  they  confound  in  their 
search  for  the  opposite  of  imitation  the  indications  of  mere 
eccentricity  with  those  of  genuine  originality.  Meantime, 
the  art  either  imitative  or  eccentric  that  is  developed  by 
such  conceptions  continues  to  prove  satisfactory  to  men 
so  long  only  as  the  temporary  fashion  that  occasions  it  con- 
tinues in  vogue.  There  is  not  a  library,  or  picture  gallery, 
or  street,  or  campus  of  any  size  in  this  country,  that  is  not 
filled  almost  to  overflowing  with  modern  compositions 
which  were  extravagantly  praised  by  the  foremost  authori- 
ties of  a  few  years  ago,  but  which  to-day  are  acknowledged 
to  be  well-nigh  worthless  as  specimens  of  art;  and  the 
sorriest  feature  of  the  condition  is  that  this  race  toward 
worthlessness  is  still  going  on  between  many  upon  whose 
works  enormous  sums  of  money,  to  say  nothing  of  un- 
deserved and  misguiding  laudations,  are  now  being  lavishly 
expended. — Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color, 

XXVI. 

So  long  as  the  author  of  this  series  of  volumes,  upon  the 
principle  of  "Live  and  let  live,"  refrains,  as  he  has  always 
consistently  done,  from  personal  attacks  upon  artists  and 
critics  and  patrons  of  art,  to  some  of  whom,  in  his  own 
conceptions,  he  is  now  very  definitely  referring,  he  cannot 
be  rightly  accused  of  being  willing  to  attain  notoriety  in 
that  easiest  way  possible  in  our  own  age, — at  the  expense 
of  others;  even  if  he  cannot  expect  to  be  recognized  as 
one  who,  in  all  that  he  has  written,  has  been  mainly  anxious 
to  be  helpful  to  them.  But  whatever  they  may  think,  he  is 
certain  that  he  will  prove  helpful  in  reality,  in  case  he  suc- 
ceeds in  doing  no  more  than  directing  attention  to  the  fact 
that  the  conditions  of  art  that  have  just  been  described  must 
always  continue  so  long  as  opinion  or  performance  is  based 
upon  the  conception  that  there  can  be  no  approximately 
definite  standards.  And  if  this  be  so,  it  is  not  being  theoreti- 
cal but  practical,  to  maintain  that  in  art,  as  in  all  other 
departments  of  life,  these  standards  can  be  discovered. 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  371 

We  can  find  that  upon  which  everything  else  on  the  earth's 
surface  rests,  if  only  we  can  get  down  deep  enough.  We 
can  find  the  basic  method  of  art,  if  only  we  can  do  the 
same.  To  find  this,  has  been  the  object  of  these  volumes. 
Nor  is  it  assuming  too  much  to  hope  that  the  physiological 
as  well  as  the  psychical  investigations  of  the  present  day 
have  been  carried  so  far  that  no  further  discoveries,  much 
as  they  may  add  by  way  of  confirmation  to  the  theories 
here  unfolded,  will  necessitate  any  material  change  in  their 
general  trend. — Idem,  xxvi. 

STUDY  AS  RELATED  TO  ARTISTIC  INSTINCT. 

We  shall  find  here  a  noteworthy  illustration  of  the  fact, 
often  exemplified,  that  the  last  result  reached  through 
artistic  methods  is  not  essentially  different  from  that  which 
in  certain  circumstances  antedates  any  study  of  art  what- 
ever.— Rhythm  and  Harmony  in  Poetry  and  Music,  iii. 

STYLE,  NEEDED  IN  PRESENTING  SUBSTANCE. 

A  howling  mob  summoned  by  a  cry  for  help  may  bring 
together  substance  to  protect  those  in  danger.  But  the 
coming  sound  of  martial  music,  and  the  tread  of  disciplined 
troops,  will  be  more  likely  to  adjust  the  matter  in  a  style 
that  will  recall  the  feeling  of  nationality,  the  authority  of 
government,  and  the  supremacy  of  law,  thus  reestablishing 
permanent  order.  In  this  utilitarian  age,  we  might  get 
along  without  certain  poetical  rhapsodies  of  literature; 
but  our  practical  arguments  cannot  afford  to  be  without 
those  forms  of  language  which,  by  giving  stimulus  and 
suggestion,  like  the  sparkle  and  flash  that  sometimes  shoot 
out  from  an  electric  current,  light  up  the  course  of  thought 
on  either  side  of  the  straight  line  of  logic.  It  is  not  enough 
to  show  men  the  grounds  of  an  opinion.  Grounds  may 
contain  nothing  beyond  sand  and  gravel.  To  recognize 
and  realize  and  relish  all  that  there  is  in  the  world  of  proof, 
men  need  to  know  something  of  the  glaciers  of  its  moun- 
tains, the  verdure  of  its  valleys,  the  fragrance  of  its  flowers. 
— Essay  on  Fundamentals  of  Education. 

SUBCONSCIOUS  MENTAL  ACTION  IN  ART  (sce  olso  GENIUS, 
PERSONALITY,  AND  UNIVERSALITY,  and  SPIRIT  OF  THE  AGE). 

What  is  it  to  be  affected  by  the  ''zeit  geist, "  the  "spirit  of 
the  times,  *  *  of  which  we  so  often  hear  ?  What  is  it  to  be  *  *  the 
spokesman  of  one's  age  "  ?  What  is  it  to  be  able,  in  the  par- 
ticular individualizations  of  art,  to  express  the  universal? 


372  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

What  is  it  to  be  able,  while  depicting  the  phases  of  the  pres- 
ent, to  foretell  the  unfoldings  of  the  future?  All  these 
things,  every  one  admits  to  be  characteristic  of  the  great 
artist.  But  what  are  they  all,  except  so  many  proofs  of 
his  possessing  a  subconscious  mind,  delicately  suscep- 
tible to  influences  exerted  by  other  minds  surrounding 
him,  and  moving  forward  with  him, — possibly,  as  in  cases 
of  prevision,  already  borne  beyond  him?  Finally,  what 
is  the  very  substance  of  the  art-product  which  we  term  a 
work  of  imagination?  What  is  it  but  a  result,  the  general 
outlines  of  which  are  taken  from  real  objects  or  events  in 
the  external  world,  yet  the  significant  substance  of  which 
is  built  out  of  the  v/ell-nigh  infinite  variety  of  material  which 
has  been  stored  in  the  subconscious  mind?  And  when 
we  consider  the  forgotten  experiences  that  have  invariably 
been  brought  to  light,  in  order  to  be  combined  into  the 
result,  we  have  no  difficulty  in  recognizing  that  art  is  not 
nature,  but  nature  as  mirrored  in  the  mind, — mainly  in  the 
subconscious  rather  than  in  the  conscious, — a  fact  which 
will  be  perceived  to  be  true  both  of  the  simplest  ele- 
mentary exercise  of  comparison  in  which  a  single  thing 
perceived  reminds  one  of  another  single  thing  previously  per- 
ceived, and  equally  true  also  of  that  more  complex  and 
most  difficult  exercise  of  constructive  imagination  in  which 
a  composite  series  of  things  perceived  reminds  one  of 
another  composite  series  previously  perceived. — The  Rep- 
resentative  Significance  of  Form,  vii. 

SYMPATHIES,  ART  APPEALING  TO  THE. 

Plays  and  novels  that  make  us  spend  hours  with  people 
such  as  we  never  meet,  or  meet  only  to  avoid;  and  statues 
and  pictures  equally  objectionable,  do  not  represent  for  us 
real  life  as  we  know  it,  and  cannot  appeal,  therefore,  to  our 
sympathies  as  art  should. — Essay  on  Art  and  Morals. 

SYMPATHY  AND  ORIGINALITY. 

One  who  is  to  preserve  his  own  originality,  and  yet, 
at  the  same  time,  derive  from  the  forms  and  suggestions 
of  nature  the  same  conceptions  that  others  derive  from 
them;  one  who  is  to  have  the  personal  force  to  incorporate 
in  a  form  peculiar  to  himself  that  phase  of  truth,  natural 
or  spiritual,  which  most  readily  commends  itself  to  all, 
must  evidently  be  a  man  of  sensibility,  as  well  as  of  ration- 
ality, a  man  able  to  sympathize  as  well  as  to  infer.  .  .  . 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  373 

Only  such  a  man  can  be  controlled  by  his  surroundings,  and 
yet  manifest  the  freedom  from  control  which  is  essential  to 
that  play  of  the  mind  which  is  characteristic  of  all  imagina- 
tive results. — The  Representative  Significance  of  Form,  xiv. 

sympathy,  appeal  of  art  to  {see  personal  and 
sympathetic). 
As  human  beings,  men  crave  sympathy  not  merely  with 
the  voluntary  movements  of  their  minds  but  often  with 
the  involuntary.  But  the  universe  which  surrounds  them 
is  a  constant  mystery  and  source  of  speculation.  They 
believe  that  there  are  causes  for  its  forms  and  movements, 
spiritual  meanings  back  of  its  material  symbols.  Yet 
these  are  apprehended  only  vaguely,  looming  dimly, 
as  they  do,  from  the  regions  of  the  unseen.  Accordingly 
when  a  work  of  art,  produced  by  one  whose  subconscious 
or  hidden  intellection  is  able  to  commune  with  these  regions, 
embodies  these  vague  views  of  men  in  material  forms, 
appealing  in  such  ways  as  to  reveal  to  each  one's  conscious- 
ness the  truthfulness  of  his  previous  unformed  apprehen- 
sions, it  is  inevitable  that  his  soul  should  experience 
intense  satisfaction.  He  feels  that  his  own  views  have  been 
confirmed  by  another's  intellect  not  alone  but,  at  the  same 
time,  have  been  felt  also  by  another's  heart.  This  recogni- 
tion of  the  sympathetic  appeal  of  art  gives  us  one  reason 
why  those  susceptible  to  its  influence — and  who  would 
trust  the  critical  insight  or  appreciation  of  any  man  who 
was  not? — are  often,  especially  in  early  life,  so  completely 
mastered  by  the  significance  of  certain  art-products. 
Sometimes,  in  wandering  through  a  gallery,  they  come 
upon  some  painting  or  statue,  and  are  so  wonderfully 
thrilled  by  it  that  they  sit  and  watch  it  till  the  tears  come, 
and  the  room  grows  dim,  and  hours  pass  by,  of  which  they 
are  unconscious;  and  when,  in  the  end,  they  arouse  them- 
selves and  leave  the  place,  they  wish  for  no  further  sight, 
each  other  seeming  vulgar  and  profane  beside  that  holy 
thing  with  which,  for  the  time,  they  seem  to  have  come  in 
contact. — Idem. 

TASTE  {see  also  culture  as  related  to  taste). 

Mention,  perhaps,  should  be  made  of  taste,  a  term  in 

common  use,  indicative  of  that  within  the  mind  enabling 

one  to  recognize  an  artistic  effect,  and  to  judge  in  some 

way  of  its  quality.     The  term  originated  in  an  adaptation 


374  ^N  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

to  a  feeling  in  the  mind  of  that  which  can  be  actually  experi- 
enced in  only  one  of  the  senses,  and  this  a  lower  sense.  As 
originally  used,  too,  taste  indicated  a  passive  state;  but 
even  when  referring  to  the  lower  sense  it  may  indicate  an 
active.  A  cook  whose  taste  is  good  can  prepare  a  dish  to 
the  taste  of  others.  In  a  similar  way,  in  art,  the  word  may 
indicate  a  man's  appreciation  and  also  his  application  of  the 
laws  of  beauty.  Again,  when  referring  to  the  lower  sense, 
men  are  said  to  have  a  natural  and  a  cultivated  taste;  and 
the  same  is  true  with  reference  to  their  attitude  toward 
beauty. 

As  applied  to  the  whole  range  of  artistic  effects,  the  rela- 
tion of  taste  to  the  aesthetic  nature  seems  to  be  precisely 
that  of  conscience  to  the  moral  nature,  and  of  judgment  to 
the  intellectual.  Enlighten  a  man's  soul,  his  conscience 
will  prompt  to  better  actions;  increase  his  wisdom,  his  judg- 
ment will  give  better  decisions.  According  to  the  same 
analogy,  cultivate  his  aesthetic  nature, — i.  e.y  improve  the 
accuracy  of  his  ear  or  eye,  his  knowledge  of  the  different 
appearances  of  life,  or  of  modes  of  each  life, — and  his  taste 
will  be  cultivated  and  improved.  He  may  never  reach  a 
position  where  he  can  know  what  is  absolutely  beautiful 
any  more  than  what  is  absolutely  right  or  wise;  but  he  may 
be  constantly  approaching  nearer  such  a  knowledge. 
Hence,  as  applied  to  art,  the  old  adage,  "De  gustibus  non 
est  disputandum, "  is  not,  in  every  sense,  true. — Essentials 
of  Esthetics,  ii. 

TASTE,  DISCREPANCIES  IN,  JUDGING  OF  HUMAN  PROPORTIONS. 

The  fact  that  the  whole  human  form  and  every  part  of  it 
owes  the  beauty  which  we  recognize  in  it  largely  to  its 
representation  of  a  certain  phase  of  significance,  furnishes 
the  best  possible  explanation  for  those  discrepancies  in 
taste,  which  are  nowhere  more  apparent  than  in  the  judg- 
ments which  different  persons,  equally  cultivated,  form 
with  reference  to  precisely  the  same  human  proportions. 
These  judgments  differ  because  men  differ  in  their  views  of 
adaptability  and  fitness,  and  in  the  recollections  which 
they  associate  with  persons  characterized  by  certain 
features;  but  more  than  all,  because  they  differ  in  their 
feelings  of  companionship  with  those  possessing  traits 
which  these  features  represent.  Owing  to  one  or  the 
other  of  these  reasons,  there  are,  for  all  of  us,  certain  forms 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  375 

SO  adjusting  themselves  into  the  framework  of  vision  and 
mind  that  they  fit  into  what  men  term  their  ideals  as  into 
a  vise,  and  hold  sympathy  spellbound.  Certain  movements 
in  these  forms  seem  regulated  to  such  a  rhythm  that,  in 
unison  with  it,  all  our  currents  of  vein  and  nerve  leap  from 
the  heart  and  brain  and  thrill  along  their  courses.  They 
do  so  very  likely  because  of  the  operation  of  those  universal 
laws  of  vibration,  the  connection  between  which  and  the 
effects  of  beauty  was  suggested  in  Chapter  XII.,  and  also  in 
Appendix  I.  of  "Art  in  Theory."  But  the  exact  reason  lies 
deeper  in  nature  than  any  plummet  dropped  by  human 
means  can  fathom.  We  cannot  know  the  cause  any  more 
than  what,  when  all  conductors  are  in  place,  speeds  the 
impulse  of  an  electric  current.  We  only  know  that  a  reason 
exists  at  all  because  of  the  results  which  we  experience. 
Just  as  certain  organs  of  the  ear  or  eye  respond  and  glow 
with  a  sense  of  complete  freedom  and  delight  in  the  presence 
of  certain  harmonious  elements  or  combinations  of  sounds 
or  sights,  so  does  the  spirit  as  a  whole.  There  may  be  some 
so  constituted  physically,  or  so  incapable  of  analyzing  what 
they  feel,  that  they  confound  this  apprehension  of  beauty, 
which  only  we  are  now  considering,  with  something  less 
pure  and  elevating.  But  those  who  have  never  made 
their  souls  the  servants  of  their  bodies,  and  whose  aesthetic 
as  well  as  ethical  natures  have,  therefore,  developed  nor- 
mally, are  aware  that  the  influence  which  flows  from 
beauty  and  beauty  alone  is  different  in  kind  from  any- 
thing debasing,  and  allied  to  that  which  is  wholly  spiritual. 
It  is  not  without  strength  in  extreme  youth,  nor  lost  in 
old  age,  and  in  its  power  to  give  delight  and  even  to  arouse 
romance,  it  is  stronger,  often,  when  exerted  by  man  upon 
man  and  woman  upon  woman,  than  when  exerted  by  one 
upon  another  of  another  sex.  These  aesthetic  effects,  when 
they  reveal  their  sources  through  the  outward  forms  in  which 
they  are  expressed  and  embodied,  do  this  mainly  through 
what  we  term  the  proportions.  What  if  these  latter  in  them- 
selves be  merely  a  collection  of  like  or  related  measurements  ? 
Is  this  not  exactly  what  we  should  expect  of  anything  the 
effects  of  which  can  be  ultimately  traced  to  vibrations? 
Cannot  the  same  be  affirmed  not  only  of  the  minute  waves 
that  underlie  results  in  melody  and  harmony  of  tone,  but  even 
of  the  larger  waves  of  rhythm?  And,  if  without  rhythm 
there  can  be  no  effective  music  or  poetry,  how  should 


376  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

there  be  effective  painting  or  sculpture  without  proportion? 
— Proportion  and  Harmony,  vii. 

TASTE,   STANDARDS  OF,  IN  ART  {see  also  CRITICISM,  EFFECTS 
OF,  and  STANDARDS  OF  CRITICISM). 

Just  as  moral  or  intellectual  character  is  shown  by  the 
way  in  which  the  balance  is  maintained  between  conflicting 
material  and  spiritual  motives  appealing  to  the  conscience  or 
the  judgment,  so  artistic  character  is  shown  by  the  way  in 
which  the  balance  is  preserved  between  the  physiological 
and  psychological  requirements  of  art.  To  a  great  extent, 
as  has  been  shown,  the  former  requirement  follows  fixed 
natural  laws,  as  is  the  case,  in  fact,  with  everything  merely 
material;  but  the  latter  requirement  depends  upon  the 
range  of  thought  and  feeling  characteristic  of  the  mind  of 
the  individual  artist  as  a  result  of  his  temperament  or  ex- 
perience. While  therefore  two  artists  may  equally  preserve 
the  balance  of  which  mention  has  just  been  made,  they 
can  never  do  it  in  exactly  the  same  way.  The  psycho- 
logical contribution,  in  each  case,  must  be  different.  It 
seems  to  be  mainly  for  this  reason  that  some  argue  that 
there  can  be  no  standard  of  taste.  But  the  same  kind  of 
logic  would  lead  one  to  conclude  that  there  can  be  no 
standard  of  right  for  conscience  or  judgment.  It  is  un- 
doubtedly a  fact  that  moral  and  intellectual  standards  are 
actually  accepted  to  an  extent  and  in  a  sense  that  is  not 
true  of  those  of  taste.  But  why  is  this  the  fact? — Why 
but  because  the  decisions  of  conscience  and  judgment 
lead  to  actions;  and  actions  always  have  some  tendency 
to  become  injurious  to  others.  Therefore,  for  mutual 
protection,  men  have  agreed  to  accept  conventional  codes 
and  creeds,  and  to  abide  by  them.  Artistic  taste,  on  the 
contrary,  does  not,  as  a  rule,  lead  to  actions,  or  at  least 
not  directly;  and  accordingly  it  is  not  supposed  to  be  injurious 
and  is  not  treated  as  such.  In  it  the  expression  of  person- 
ality, and  with  this  of  originality,  is  left  unfettered.  Spiritu- 
ally considered,  the  artist  is  almost  the  only  freeman.  But 
the  fact  that  he  is  this  is  due,  more  than  to  anything  else, 
to  the  lucky  accident  of  his  not  happening  to  be  engaged 
upon  that  which  has  a  direct  practical,  utilitarian  bearing. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  condition  to  rid  him  of  the  obligation 
to  endeavor,  at  least,  to  discover  and  to  fulfil  certain  artistic 
principles,  any  more  than  the  fact  of  living  where  no  con- 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  377 

ventional  creeds  or  codes  had  been  framed,  would  rid  one  of 
the  obligation  to  endeavor,  at  least,  to  discover  and  to  fulfil 
the  principles  of  truth  and  righteousness. — Art  in  Theory ^ 

XIV. 

TASTE,  WHEN  DEGENERATE. 

What  kind  of  taste  is  being  cultivated  to-day?'  It  is  safe 
to  say  that,  twenty-five  years  ago,  no  American  publishers 
of  respectable  standing  would  have  allowed  their  imprint 
to  appear  on  the  same  page  with  the  artistic  vulgarities 
which  our  foremost  firms  are  now  flaunting  upon  one's 
eyes  from  the  posters  and  even  covers  of  their  periodi- 
cals; nor,  if  so  flaunted,  would  any  one,  old  enough  to  live 
outside  a  nursery,  have  looked  at  such  effects  a  second 
time.  But  now  they  are  supposed  to  commend  them- 
selves to  the  taste  of  several  millions  of  people,  many 
of  whom,  after  the  schooling  that  they  have  received  through 
gradations  downward  to  the  present  low  level,  are  actually 
expected  to  think  them  interesting  and,  if  critics,  to  speak 
of  them  as  artistic!  Nor  is  there  any  commercial  excuse 
for  this  abuse  of  artistic  opportunity.  It  seems  to  be  owing 
to  sheer  esthetic  wantonness  irresponsibly  debauching 
popular  taste. — Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as 
Representative  Arts,  xii. 

TEACHERS   AND   BEES. 

Not  all  the  bees  in  a  hive  have  to  do  with  developing  the 
queen-bee.  Yet  one  appears  every  season,  and  this  because 
of  the  work  of  all.  Meantime,  they  all  have  also  contri- 
buted to  the  provisioning,  the  comfort,  the  prosperity,  and 
the  sweetness  of  the  whole  corporate  life.  So  with  teachers 
of  drawing  in  primary  schools. — Essay  on  Teaching  in 
Drawing. 

TEACHERS,  QUALIFICATIONS  OF,  IN  ELOCUTION. 

Some  decry  all  physicians  on  the  ground  that  they  kill 
off  their  patients.  But  this  is  true,  as  a  rule,  only  of 
quacks.  There  are  certain  physicians  who  benefit  their 
patients;  and  the  same  is  true  of  some  elocutionists.  If 
those  called  upon  to  select  the  latter  would  only  exercise  a 
little  common-sense,  it  might  be  true  of  almost  all  of  them. 
A  man's  credentials  for  such  a  position  should  be  examined. 
Has  he  studied  the  art,  and  with  whom?  Has  he  had 
experience  in  teaching,  and  with  what  results  ?     More  than 

'This  was  printed  in  1895. 


378  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

that,  what  kind  of  a  man  is  he  in  himself?  Has  he  good 
judgment  and  insight?  Has  he  modesty,  so  that  he  will 
give  his  pupils  merely  what  they  need,  not  what  he  thinks 
that  he  himself  needs  in  order  to  increase  their  regard  for 
him?  Above  all,  has  he  the  artistic  temperament? — that 
supremacy  of  instinct  over  reflection  and  that  flexibility, 
mental  and  physical,  which  enable  a  man  to  remain  master 
of  himself  and  of  his  material,  notwithstanding  any  amount 
of  the  latter  with  which  instruction  and  information  may 
have  surrounded  him?  How  does  he  himself,  in  his  own 
reading  and  speaking,  manifest  the  results  of  the  system 
that  he  purposes  to  teach? — Essay  on  Elocution  in  the 
Theological  Seminary. 

TECHNIQUE   {see  FORM  AND  SIGNIFICANCE,  FORM,  STUDY  OF, 
FORM  VS.  SIGNIFICANCE,  and  SIGNIFICANCE  VS.  FORM). 

In  the  degree  in  which  he  comes  to  take  an  interest  in 
his  work,  he  will  begin  to  perceive  the  fascination  that  there 
may  be  in  the  study  of  form  as  form;  and  no  man  ever 
became  an  artist  or  able  to  appreciate  art  in  any  department, 
until  he  had  begun  to  perceive  this.  The  young  seldom 
perceive  it.  They  are  more  apt  to  feel  suppressed  than 
stimulated  by  talk  with  reference  to  fine  discriminations  in 
the  selection  of  words,  or  artistic  ingenuity  in  the  arrange- 
ment of  them.  Always  ready  to  admit  in  a  general  way  the 
value  of  style,  in  trying  to  detect  its  qualities  for  themselves 
they  are  apt  to  use  tools  too  big  and  bungling  to  discover 
any  except  superficial  excellences.  Like  the  savage,  they 
stand  agaze  at  the  huge,  the  loud,  and  the  coarse;  they  fail  to 
notice  the  delicate,  the  gentle,  and  the  fine.  They  believe 
in  the  realm  of  the  telescope,  not  of  the  microscope;  in 
that  which  can  wing  itself  among  the  clouds,  not  in  that 
which  must  watch  and  walk  while  keeping  the  motive 
power  of  flight  alive.  They  forget  that  the  eagle  has  eyes, 
as  well  as  pinions;  and  that  the  keenness  of  his  sight  does 
not  prevent  him  from  soaring,  but  prevents  him,  when  he 
soars,  from  losing  himself. — Essay  on  the  Literary  Artist 
and  Elocution. 

TECHNIQUE  AND  NATURE  (see  FORM  AND  SIGNIFICANCE  and 
NATURAL  EFFECTS   REPRODUCED  IN  ART). 

When  technique  is  mastered,  and  its  results  become  auto- 
matic, they,  themselves,  though  not  those  of  nature  in  its  pri- 
mary sense,  become  those  of  a  second  or  acquired  nature; 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  379 

and,  in  this  condition,  the  highest  compliment  possible 
for  them,  as  well  as  the  highest  tribute  to  their  success,  is 
given  when  they  are  termed  natural. — Essay  on  the  Function 
of  Technique. 

TECHNIQUE  IN  PAINTING  SUBORDINATED  TO  REPRESENTATION. 

When  one  enters  a  gallery,  the  work  of  the  great  master 
is  most  likely  to  be  that  which,  at  first  glance,  might  be 
mistaken  for  a  mirror  reflecting  nature  outside  the  window; 
in  other  words,  a  work,  in  which  technique,  however  perfect 
in  itself,  has  been  carefully  subordinated  to  the  requirements 
of  representation. — Idem. 

TECHNIQUE  IN  POETRY. 

It  is  not  strange  that  one  who  has  thoroughly  at  com- 
mand the  resources  of  the  music  of  verse  like  Swinburne, 
or  of  suggestive  ellipses  like  Browning,  or  of  picturesque 
details  like  Morris,  should  occasionally,  in  the  heat  and 
exuberance  of  his  creative  moods,  push  his  peculiar  excel- 
lence altogether  beyond  the  limits  of  legitimate  art;  but 
it  is  strange  that  the  critics  who  make  it  their  business  to 
form  cool  and  exact  estimates  of  literary  work,  should  so 
seldom  have  sufficient  insight  to  detect,  or  courage  to  reveal, 
wherein  lie  the  faults  that  injure  the  style  of  each,  and  how 
they  may  be  remedied.  How  can  criticism  be  of  any  use 
except  so  far  as  in  a  kindly  way  it  can  aid  in  the  perfecting 
of  that  on  which  it  turns  its  scrutiny?  And  yet  it  is  doubt- 
ful whether,  amid  all  the  eulogy  and  abuse  which  have 
greeted  all  the  works  of  Robert  Browning,  any  one,  in 
private  or  in  print,  has  ever  told  him  plainly  what  those 
faults  are — all  so  easy  to  correct, — but  for  which  the  man 
with  the  greatest  poetic  mind  of  the  age  would  be — what 
now  he  is  not — its  greatest  poet.  And  if  criticism  of  this 
kind  is  needed  by  authors  who  have  attained  his  rank,  how 
much  more  by  those  who,  with  the  imitative  methods  of 
inexperience,  are  always  prone  to  copy  unconsciously,  and 
usually  to  exaggerate,  the  weak  rather  than  the  strong 
points  of  the  masters!  Many  a  young  writer,  doing  this 
at  that  critical  period  of  his  life  when  a  lack  of  stimulus  and 
appreciation  may  wholly  check  one's  career,  has  failed, 
notwithstanding  great  merits.  All  his  ability  in  other 
directions  has  not  compensated  for  his  ignorance  of  the 
requirements  of  poetic  technique. — Poetry  as  a  Representa' 
live  Art,  xiv. 


38o  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

TEMPERAMENT  AS    INFLUENCING     ART-PRODUCTS      {See    alsO 
ARTISTIC  VS.  SCIENTIFIC  MENTAL  ACTION,  and  GENIUS). 

The  artist  is  one  who,  owing  to  temperament  or  training, 
is  able,  to  an  exceptional  extent,  to  manifest  in  speech  or 
action  the  results  of  his  subconscious  intellection.  What 
does  he  obtain  through  this  form  of  intellection?  Sur- 
misals,  which,  sometimes,  as  has  been  shown,  correspond 
to  the  absolute  truth.  Nevertheless,  even  if  they  do,  he 
obtains  this  truth  in  those  forms  only  in  which  his  own 
temperament,  as  influenced  by  his  training,  is  able  to  in- 
terpret, and,  according  to  the  method  indicated,  to  frame  into 
an  ideal  the  scenes  or  sounds  that  suggest  the  truth.  And 
what  does  he  communicate?  Nothing  again  but  his  own 
surmisals,  interpretations,  or  ideals.  Moreover,  if  he  be  a 
genuine  artist,  producing  nothing  but  effects  which  represent 
those  of  nature,  he  communicates  his  surmisals  in  such  forms 
only  as  cause  others,  as  a  result  of  their  own  imaginings,  to 
make  similar  surmisals.  The  artist  therefore  interprets  na- 
ture according  to  his  own  temperament,  and  causes  others  to 
interpret  it  as  he  does. — The  Representative  Significance  of 
Form,  XIV. 

THEORIES,    MADE    TO    SUIT    OUR    OWN    PRACTICE. 

The  truth  is  that  art-theories,  like  religious  creeds,  are 
framed  not  so  much  for  the  purpose  of  adjusting  conditions 
to  the  demands  of  truth,  as  of  advocating  the  conditions, 
whether  of  truth  or  of  falsehood,  which  the  framers  recognize 
to  be  their  own.  The  majority  of  us,  though  usually  uncon- 
scious of  the  fact,  would  rather  keep  all  the  world  below  us 
than,  by  pointing  to  a  level  higher  than  our  own,  risk  having 
someone  discovered  there  who,  instead  of  ourselves,  has 
attained  it. — Essay,  on  the  Function  of  Technique. 

THOROUGHNESS,   AMERICA'S   NEED   AND   MUSIC'S   INFLUENCE 

ON. 

Thoroughness  as  a  characteristic  of  mental  process 
or  material  production  is  very  greatly  needed  among  our 
people.  We  have  qualities  that,  in  certain  directions,  seem 
sometimes  capable  of  taking  its  place, — an  unusual  develop- 
ment of  intuition,  insight,  ingenuity,  and  power  of  initiative. 
Nine  times  out  of  ten,  perhaps,  when  an  American  jumps 
to  a  conclusion,  he  can  make  a  successful  landing;  but  the 
wise  ought  always  to  bear  in  mind  the  fact  that  a  single 
slip,  at  a  critical  moment,  may  lose  a  whole  race. 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  381 

Is  there  nothing  to  awaken  reflection  in  the  fact  that 
Germany,  the  one  country  in  which  there  has  been  not  only 
the  highest  but  the  most  universal  development  of  musical 
culture,  is  also  the  one  country  universally  acknowledged 
to  stand  without  a  rival  as  an  exemplification  of  the  results 
of  thoroughness  in  all  forms  of  scholarship?  Is  there  not 
something  in  this  fact  to  suggest  a  patriotic  as  well  as  an 
aesthetic  reason  for  desiring  to  promote  in  our  own  land 
every  form  in  which  music  can  be  studied? — Essay  on 
Music  as  Related  to  Other  Arts. 

TIME     (see    REPRESENTATIVE    EFFECTS    IN    DURATION,     and 

rhythm). 

TRADITIONALISM   AND    MATERIALISM,    AS    AFFECTED   BY   ART 

(see  also  religion  aided  by  art  and  spiritual 

SUGGESTIVENESS  OF  ART). 

It  would  be  a  mistake,  however,  to  suppose  that,  be- 
cause not  directly  an  aid  to  religion,  art  is  not  indirectly 
so,  and  this  even  where  strictly  confined  to  its  own  sphere. 
In  ages  like  our  own,  when  men  rely  chiefly  upon  the 
guidance  of  the  conscious  mind,  it  is  extremely  diffictdt 
for  them  to  be  brought  to  realize  that  there  is  any  trust- 
worthy guidance  attributable  to  the  action  of  the  sub- 
conscious mind.  Those  in  this  state  may  be  divided  into 
two  classes.  One  class  of  them  holds  that  many  years  ago 
this  inspirational  form  of  guidance  prevailed,  but  that 
now  it  does  not.  They  believe  in  inspiration  that  was, 
but  not  in  inspiration  that  is.  They  prize  highly  that  which 
was  once  received  in  this  way.  But,  so  far  as  concerns 
a  similar  method  of  receiving  the  truth  now,  their  own 
spiritual  instincts  are  not  allowed  to  guide  them  even  to 
the  extent — which  might  involve  no  great  changes  of 
opinion — of  interpreting  the  spirit  of  the  old  according  to 
the  form  of  the  new.  The  result  is  what  is  termed  tradi- 
tionalism; and  it  is  needless  to  argue  that  the  tendency  of 
this  is  to  cause  the  mind  to  hold  on  to  that  which  has 
formerly  been  conceived,  and  to  hold  on  so  firmly  as  often 
to  be  prejudicial  to  development,  and  even  to  activity,  of 
thought.  The  other  class  maintains  that  there  never  was, 
and  never  can  be  anything  worth  regarding  in  this  inspi- 
rational form  of  guidance.  They  deem  nothing  trustworthy 
except  that  which  results  solely  from  the  action  of  the 
conscious  mind.     This  leads  to  what  is  termed  materialism ; 


382  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

and,  so  far  as  it  has  its  perfect  work,  it  is  still  more  deaden- 
ing to  effort  and  ideality  than  is  traditionalism. — The  Re- 
presentative Significance  of  Form,  vii. 

TRAINING,  PHYSICAL  AND  MENTAL  (see  also  DRILL,  INSPIRED, 
PRACTICE,  ITS  EFFECTS,  and  SKILL,  HOW  ACQUIRED). 

Training  can  do  much  more  for  artistic  development 
than  some  suppose.  It  can  produce  facility  not  only 
in  outward  expression,  giving  the  singer,  orator,  or  actor  a 
flexible  voice  or  a  graceful  body,  or  the  musician,  painter, 
or  sculptor  dexterity  in  the  use  of  fingers,  brush,  or  chisel. 
It  can  produce  facility  in  the  methods  of  inward  prepara- 
tion for  expression,  enabling  the  mind  to  draw  at  will 
from  the  subconscious  resources  that  which  is  the  subject- 
matter  of  artistic  invention  and  inspiration. — The  Repre- 
sentative Significance  of  Forniy  xiii. 

TRUTH  (see  ART  AND  BEAUTY,  and  NATURE  TRUTH  TO). 
TRUTH  AND  THOUGHT  REVEALED  IN  NATURE. 

Here  is  a  rose-bush.  When  it  begins  to  grow,  it  is  small 
and  weak  and  simple.  As  it  develops,  it  becomes  large  and 
strong  and  complex.  So  does  every  other  plant  in  nature; 
so  does  a  man ;  so  does  a  nation ;  so  does  all  humanity ;  so, 
as  far  as  we  can  know,  does  the  entire  substance  that  develops 
for  the  formation  of  our  globe.  One  mode  of  operation,  one 
process,  we  find  everywhere.  If  this  be  so,  then  to  the 
ear  skilled  to  listen  to  the  voice  in  nature,  what  is  all  the 
universe  but  a  mighty  auditorium — in  which  every  tale  is 
reechoed  endlessly  beneath,  about,  and  above,  through 
every  nook  of  its  grand  crypts  and  aisles  and  arches?  But, 
again,  if  all  created  things  bear  harmonious  reports  with 
reference  to  the  laws  controlling  them,  what  inference 
must  follow  from  this?  In  view  of  it,  what  else  can  a 
man  do  but  attribute  all  these  processes,  one  in  mode,  to 
a  single  source? — and,  more  than  this,  what  can  he  do  but 
accept  the  import  of  these  processes,  the  methods  indi- 
cated in  them,  the  principles  exemplified  by  them,  as 
applicable  to  all  things, — in  other  words,  as  revelations  of 
the  universal  truth?  So  the  poet  finds  not  only  thought 
in  nature,  but  also  truth. — Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art, 

XXVIII. 

UGLINESS  IN  ART  (see  ART  AND  BEAUTY). 

Nor  need  it  be  supposed  that  what  has  been  said  en- 
dorses the  mistaken  view  that  any  subject  which  is  "natu- 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  383 

ral"  is  legitimate  for  artistic  treatment.  The  truth  seems 
to  be  that  ugliness,  simply  because  it  is  repulsive,  is  not 
legitimate  in  art  except  so  far  as,  by  way  of  contrast, 
as  in  the  case  of  shadows  which  throw  that  which  they 
surround  into  brighter  relief,  the  ugliness  enhances  the 
beauty  to  which  it  is  kept  in  manifest  subordination. 
What  the  particular  phases  of  this  beauty  shall  be  must 
be  determined,  of  course,  by  the  taste  of  the  artist.  But 
their  effectiveness  will  depend  upon  his  powers  of  observa- 
tion and  his  study  of  the  analogies  of  nature.  Beauty  is 
never  so  attractive  as  when  it  appears  in  the  dignity  attach- 
ing to  the  creative  proportions  there;  truth  is  never  so 
operative  as  when  it  manifests  the  sanction  of  the  laws 
of  the  Creator  that  are  there  embodied. — The  Representative 
Significance  of  Form,  xii. 

UNITIES,  THE  LAW  OF,  IN  DRAMATIC  ART. 

Harmony  of  effects  among  different  elements  of  signifi- 
cance in  form  as  they  appeal  to  recollection,  association, 
or  suggestion,  is  due  mainly  to  perceiving  that  the  objects 
made  to  go  together  are  such  as  we  are  accustomed  to 
think  of  as  going  together.  For  instance,  this  phase  of 
harmony  is  fulfilled  in  an  opera  or  poem,  when  all  the 
scenes  or  events  representing  a  certain  country  or  period 
conform  strictly  to  the  conditions  of  each.  It  was  this 
that  was  sought  to  be  fulfilled  in  the  old  law  of  criticism 
ascribed  to  the  Greeks,  enjoining  that  a  drama  should 
contain  only  as  much  as  might  be  supposed  to  take  place  in 
the  time  given  to  the  representation,  or,  at  most,  in  one  day, 
and  in  one  place,  and  with  one  kind  of  action,  by  which 
latter  was  meant  with  either  tragic  or  comic  situations, 
but  not  with  both.  This  "law  of  the  unities"  of  time, 
place,  and  action,  as  it  is  called,  although  it  cannot  be 
applied  universally,  is  based  at  least  upon  a  true  principle. 
Brevity,  local  color,  and  directness  are  always  elements  of 
artistic  excellence. — Art  in  Theory,  xiii. 

However  acceptable  this  "law  of  the  unities"  may  have 
been  to  the  ancient  Greeks,  who  were  less  interested  than 
people  of  our  day  in  the  analysis  of  motives  and  the  develop- 
ment of  character,  it  does  not  allow  sufficient  comprehen- 
siveness  for  the  purposes  of  modem  literary  art,  least  of  all 
of  the  dramatic.  Anything  in  art  is  right  which  enhances 
an  effect  legitimate  to  the  product  in  which  it  is  used.     In 


384  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

order  to  show  the  results  of  the  influences  at  work  in  motives 
and  character,  length  of  time  is  often  indispensable.  So, 
too,  is  change  of  place;  while  the  incongruous  association 
of  tragedy  and  comedy  in  the  action,  not  only  prevents 
monotony,  but,  as  universally  in  the  case  of  contrast, 
increases  the  distinctive  impression  of  both.  Imaginative 
people  never  have  so  strong  an  inclination  to  laugh  as  at  a 
funeral,  and  tears  never  flow  so  freely  as  immediately  after 
a  burst  of  merriment. — The  Genesis  of  Art-Form,  ix. 

UNITY,    EFFECT  OF,    IN   MUSIC. 

Where  consecutive  single  notes  are  used,  we  are  best  satis- 
fied if  all  or  a  large  number  of  those  that  are  essential  to 
the  same  melody  are  produced  by  an  instrument  of  the 
same  kind,  thus  fulfilling  the  principle,  of  putting  like 
elements  of  sound  together.  For  instance,  even  were  it 
possible,  we  should  hardly  take  pleasure  in  hearing  a  first 
note  of  a  melody  sounded  on  a  violin,  a  second  on  a  flute, 
a  third  on  a  pianoforte,  etc.,  and  this  because  the  effect 
would  lack  congruity,  which  is  the  first  condition  enabling 
the  mind  to  compare  the  qualities  of  successive  tones,  and 
thus  perceive  unity  in  them.  If,  however,  instead  of 
consecutive  single  notes,  we  hear  consecutive  chords,  then, 
provided  the  same  part  be  played  in  consecutive  chords  by 
the  same  instrument,  the  more  numerous  the  kinds  of  instru- 
ments used,  the  more  pleasure,  as  a  rule,  do  we  receive. 
A  chorus,  accompanied  by  an  orchestra,  is  usually  more 
enjoyable  than  a  single  voice  accompanied  by  a  piano,  and 
the  latter  is  more  enjoyable  than  a  voice  unaccompanied  by 
any  instrument.  The  reason  is  that  in  the  chord  of  the 
orchestra  the  ear  recognizes,  and  is  able  to  compare,  a  much 
larger  number  of  like  or  allied  effects.  Moreover,  as  all 
these  instruments  are  sounded  in  successive  chords,  their 
music  continues  to  preserve  from  note  to  note  the  same 
general  compound  quality,  notwithstanding  the  variety 
caused  by  differences  of  pitch  in  the  notes  of  each  chord  and 
of  successive  chords.  It  is  because  the  effect  of  tmity,^ 
together  with  that  of  the  greatest  possible  variety,  is  at- 
tained in  this  complex  form  of  music  as  in  no  other,  that  the 
orchestra  and  chorus  combined  is  sometimes  supposed  to 
exemplify  the  highest  possibilities  of  the  art. — Rhythm  and 
Harmony  in  Poetry  and  Music,  xiii. 

*  See  page  89  of  this  volume. 


The  Laocoon  Group 
See  pages  73,  82,  88,  162,  230-232,  280,  281,  309,318-321 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  385 

UNITY  IN  iESTHETIC  SYSTEMS  NECESSITATES  A  COMMON 
ART-CHARACTERISTIC. 

If  for  instance  we  emphasize  the  fact  that  art  reproduces 
the  appearances  of  nature,  we  thrust  sculpttire  and  painting 
into  prominence.  We  term  these  "the  fine  arts,"  and 
music  or  poetry  on  the  one  hand,  and  architecture  on  the 
other,  are  classed  in  the  same  company  only  by  a  doubtful 
courtesy  which  allows  them  to  cling  to  the  skirts  of  the 
former.  If,  again,  we  emphasize  the  fact  that  the  arts  are 
human,  in  that  they  are  means  of  communicating  thought 
and  feeling,  then  literature  and  poetry  are  unduly  exalted. 
Nor  does  the  emphasis  of  either  fact  do  justice  either  to 
music  or  to  architecture.  But  is  it  not  surmisable  that 
each  of  these  facts  should  result  from  some  other  fact,  and 
that  this  fact  should  be  equally  recognizable  in  the  repro- 
duction of  forms  in  nature  and  in  the  expression  of  the 
formative  thought  and  feeling  in  the  artist's  mind?  If  so, 
is  it  not  evident  that  we  can  classify  all  the  arts  according 
to  the  one  fact,  and  arrange  them  according  to  the  influence 
upon  each  art  of  each  of  the  other  two  facts,  and  that,  thus 
doing,  we  can  find  a  place  somewhere  where  each  art,  when 
so  arranged,  can  stand  without  danger  of  having  the  qualities 
that  render  it  artistic  either  exaggerated  or  belittled? — 
Art  in  Theory,  iv. 

UNITY     IN     ALL   ART-WORKS     {see    CLASSIFICATION   AS   THE 
FOREMOST  ART-METHOD,   and  PAGE   89). 

UNITY  IN  ARCHITECTURE,  SUGGESTED  BY  CONTINUITY. 

Every  one  must  have  observed  occasionally  in  connection 
with  mouldings  and  buttresses,  with  divisions  and  cappings 
of  windows  and  porches,  with  external  and  internal  arches 
and  ridgepoles  of  roofs,  gables,  and  ceilings,  but  especially 
in  connection  with  the  sides  of  towers  and  spires,  and  with 
innumerable  ornamental  details,  outlines  that  seem  to 
suggest,  at  least,  a  desire  to  point  the  thought  away  to 
another  feature  of  principal  interest  with  which  they  are 
organically  connected.  .  .  .  Undoubtedly  it  would  add  to 
the  effects  of  buildings  if  more  were  made  of  this  possi- 
bility, as  might  easily  be  done  by  bestowing  a  little  more  care 
upon  the  arrangements  of  the  necessary  lines  and  arches. 
Certain  it  is  that,  in  any  art,  the  mind,  in  glancing  along 
in  the  direction  to  which  an  outline  thus  related  points, 
takes  pleasure  in  finding  other  lines  continuing  it  or  converg- 

9S 


386  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

ing  somewhere  with  it,  and,  even  without  consciousness  of 
the  reason,  derives  from  this  arrangement  impressions  both 
of  principality^  and  unity ^  in  connection  with  the  whole, 
which  nothing  else  could  give. — The  Genesis  of  Art-Form, 
XI. 

VASE  {see  ELLIPTIC  lanceolate). 
VENUS  {see  representation  in  sculpture). 

VERSE  AN  ELEMENT  OF  ARTISTIC  UNITY. 

What  is  verse?  A  little  reflection  will  reveal  that  every 
known  phase  of  it  is  a  method  of  causing  the  flow  of  the 
words  as  they  present  themselves  in  time,  to  be  interrupted 
sufficiently  and  with  sufficient  regularity  to  convey  an 
impression  like  that  produced  when  like  objects  appear  side 
by  side  in  space.  Lines,  feet,  alliteration,  assonance, 
rhyme, — all  have  the  effect  of  retarding  or  preventing  an 
absolute  change;  and  thus  of  causing  the  composition  to 
manifest  not  movement  only,  but  unity  of  movement. 
Consider,  for  instance,  the  lyric.  Its  thought  usually  moves 
on  very  impetuously.  The  artistic  requirement  in  its  mode 
of  expression,  therefore,  is  that  it  manifest,  in  some  way, 
that  there  is  unity  in  the  movement.  But  how  can  this  be 
done  better  than  by  arranging  the  sounds  in  certain  like 
groups,  indicating  unity  of  method?  And  how  can  we 
find  like  groups  more  clearly  indicated  than  in  the  regular 
recurrence  of  accents,  as  in  feet,  or  of  tones  as  in  allitera- 
tion or  assonance,  and  especially  as  in  rhymes  at  the  ends 
of  lines.  These  latter,  in  particular,  cause  the  thought, 
at  like  intervals,  to  pause,  as  it  were,  and  to  connect  the 
sound  heard  with  another  like  sound  that  preceded  it.  A 
similar  impression  is  also  conveyed  when  successive  stanzas 
end  with  a  like  refrain  or  chorus.  .  .  .  Without  them,  the 
thought  of  the  lyric  might  often  seem  to  roll  forward  as 
lifelessly  and  with  as  little  evidence  of  organism  as  a  log. 
These  make  it  step  and  fly, — give  it  a  regularly  recurring 
motion  like  that  of  a  living  creature. — The  Representative 
Significance  of  Form,  xxii. 

VERSE,  CLASSIC  VS.  MODERN  {see  ACCENT  and  rhythm). 

It  may  be  asked,  have  we  not  derived  our  system  of 
versification  from  that  of  the  classic  languages,  and  was 
this  not  based  upon  quantity  rather  than  upon  accent? 
Certainly;  but,  while  observing  these  facts  let  us  observe 

» See  page  89  of  this  volume. 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  387 

also  that  the  classic  system  was  not  an  elementary  but  a 
late  development  of  rhythm.  .  .  .  Poetic  measures,  as 
we  have  found,  result,  primarily,  from  force  given  to  syl- 
lables at  regular  intervals  of  duration.  But  careful  observa- 
tion will  reveal  that,  as  a  rule,  the  application  of  this 
force  necessarily  involves  also  an  increase  in  the  duration 
of  the  accented  syllable.  This  increase  is  made  in  speech 
unconsciously ;  in  music  it  is  made  consciously ;  and  that  this 
was  the  case  in  the  classic  metres,  furnishing  one  proof, 
which  is  confirmed  by  others,  that  they  were  results  of  an 
effort  to  intone  verses — i.  e.,  to  make  music  of  them.  But 
besides  this  let  us  notice  another  fact.  As  accent  is 
necessarily  accompanied  by  an  increase  in  quantity,  it  is 
impossible  that  our  own  metres  also,  though  determined 
by  accent,  should  not  manifest  some  traces  of  the  influence 
of  quantity. — Rhythm  and  Harmony  in  Poetry  and  Music,  11. 

In  constructing  verse  the  Greeks  and  Romans  subordinated 
accent  to  quantity.  Unlike  ourselves,  if  in  composing 
they  came  to  a  word  in  which  long  quantity  and  the  ordi- 
nary accent  did  not  go  together,  they  seem  always  to  have 
been  at  liberty  to  disregard  the  accent,  and  occasionally, 
too,  they  could  change  the  quantity.  In  fact,  they  could 
change  both  quantity  and  accent  in  order  to  produce  a 
rhythmic  effect  when  chanting,  analogous  to  that  which 
we  produce  when  reading.  Our  poets,  on  the  contrary, 
have  gone  back  to  the  primitive  methods,  antedating  those 
of  Greece,  and  base  the  rhythms  of  their  verse  on  the 
accents  of  speech.  The  result,  as  compared  with  the 
language  of  our  prose,  is  more  natural  than  that  reached  by 
the  other  method ;  and  in  its  way  is  fully  as  artistic.  Nor,  in 
other  regards,  is  English  inferior  to  the  classic  tongues  in  its 
capabilities  for  artistic  treatment.  Owing  to  an  extensive 
use  of  terminations  in  nouns,  articles,  pronouns,  adjectives, 
and  verbs,  in  order  to  indicate  different  grammatical  rela- 
tionships, the  Greeks  and  Romans  could  change  the  order 
of  words  in  a  sentence  without  changing  its  meaning.  In 
their  language,  "The  dog  ate  the  wolf,"  with  slightly 
varied  terminations,  could  read,  "The  wolf  ate  the  dog." 
For  this  reason,  they  could  alter  their  phraseology,  in 
order  to  accommodate  it  to  the  requirements  of  metre,  as 
is  not  possible  for  us ;  and  so  far  they  had  an  advantage 
over  us.     Nevertheless,  for  some  reason,  when  they  came 


388  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

to  put  their  words  into  verse,  as  every  schoolboy  who 
tries  to  scan  knows,  they  produced  a  language  which, 
like  the  present  French  poetic  diction,  sounded  unlike 
that  of  conversation.  Even  supposing,  with  some  scholars, 
that  in  reading  they  did  not  scan  their  verses  as  we  do  now, 
nor  even  chant  them  invariably,  as  some  infer  was  the  case, 
their  poetic  language  was  not  the  same  as  their  spoken 
language.  Aristotle  tells  us,  when  mentioning  things 
which  it  is  legitimate  for  the  poet  to  do,  that  he  can  invent 
new  words,  that  he  can  expand  old  ones,  either  by  lengthen- 
ing vowels  or  by  adding  syllables,  that  he  can  contract 
them  by  shortening  vowels  or  omitting  syllables,  and  that 
he  can  alter  them  in  various  other  ways.  Spenser  and 
others  since  him  have  applied  similar  methods  to  English 
poetic  diction;  but,  at  present,  such  changes,  except  in 
rare  instances,  are  not  considered  admissible,  and  this 
because  they  are  recognized  to  be  unnecessary.  The  fact 
that  they  are  not  admissible  in  our  language,  and  were 
admissible  in  the  classic  languages,  proves  that,  in  one 
regard  at  least,  our  language  is  superior  to  them  as  a 
medium  of  metre. — Idem,  ii. 

In  the  classic  languages  metre  was  determined  by  the 
quantities  or  relative  lengths  of  the  vowel-sounds  or  con- 
sonant-sounds composing  the  syllables.  Our  own  language 
is  not  spelled  phonetically,  and  therefore  we  fail  to  notice 
the  effect  of  similar  elements  in  it.  Yet  they  are  present 
to  a  greater  extent  than  we  ordinarily  suppose,  as  will  be 
brought  out  clearly  when  we  come  to  consider  quantity, 
especially  that  which  is  used  in  the  English  hexameter. 
Any  one  acquainted  with  the  subject,  knows  that  it  is  a 
mistake  to  hold  that  quantity  has  nothing  whatever  to 
do  with  the  movements  of  ovir  metres,  and  an  analogous 
mistake,  probably,  would  be  made  in  supposing  that  the 
emphasis  of  ordinary  pronunciation  had  nothing  whatever 
to  do  with  the  classic  metres. — Poetry  as  a  Representative 
Arty  II. 

verse,  its  genesis  {sec  poetry  vs,  music,  genesis  of 

each). 
We  all  must  have  noticed  that  a  child  too  young  to  talk, 
a  foreigner  using  a  language  unknown  to  us,  a  friend  speak- 
ing at  such  a  distance  from  us  that  his  words  are  indistin- 
guishable, can  all  reveal  to  us,  with  a  certain  degree  of 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  389 

definiteness,  the  general  tenor  of  their  thoughts.  Their 
tones,  aside  from  their  words,  enable  us  to  understand 
such  facts  as  whether  they  are  hurried  or  at  leisiure,  elated 
or  depressed,  in  earnest  or  indifferent,  pleased  or  angered. 
This  is  so  because  these  facts  are  directly  represented 
by  their  intonations.  Developed  with  design,  these  may 
be  made  to  resemble  those  of  the  foremost  actors  and 
orators.  Hence  the  art  of  elocution.  Developed  without 
design,  they  instinctively  come  to  imitate  those  of  the 
people  with  whom  one  most  associates.  Scotchmen, 
Irishmen,  Englishmen,  and  Americans  can  all  be  distin- 
guished by  the  different  ways  in  which  they  utter  the  same 
phrases.  No  two  of  them  will  emphasize  precisely  alike  a 
simple  expression  such  as  "I  can't  go  there  to-day." 

Not  only  men  of  different  nations  can  be  distinguished 
thus,  but  even  different  individuals.  Any  one  well  known 
to  us  can  be  recognized  in  the  dark  by  what  we  term 
his  voice,  by  which  we  mean  his  method  of  using  his  voice ; 
the  way,  peculiar  to  himself,  of  pausing  at  certain  intervals 
and  hurrying  at  others,  of  sliding  his  sounds  up  and  down 
on  certain  syllables  and  phrases,  and  also,  perhaps,  of 
giving  in  certain  places  an  unusual  stress  or  quality  of  tone. 
AH  these  methods  impress  his  individuality  on  everything 
that  he  has  to  say.  When  he  becomes  a  public  speaker, 
his  peculiarities  in  these  regards  become  still  more  marked. 
Unconsciously,  if  not  consciously,  he  develops  them  so  that, 
in  his  delivery,  similar  intonations  recur  with  a  certain 
degree  of  regularity;  in  other  words,  he  comes  to  have  what 
may  be  termed  a  rhythm  and  a  tune  of  his  own.  The 
reason  why  he  comes  to  have  these  is,  undoubtedly,  .  .  . 
owing  to  a  natural  tendency  to  economize  labor.  Just  as  the 
swinging  of  the  hands  enables  one  to  walk  more  easily,  so 
what  may  be  termed  the  swinging  of  the  tones  enables  one  to 
talk  more  easily.  So,  also,  as  we  shall  find  by-and-bye,  do 
verse  and  measure,  to  which  these  intonations  naturally 
lead.  The  two  together  separate  the  words  and  syllables, 
and  make  them  accord  with  the  natural  actions  of  the 
lungs  and  throat. 

But  let  us  waive  this  thought,  until  we  reach  it  in  its 
proper  place.  Before  the  age  of  books  those  who  prepared 
literature  published  it  by  repeating  it  in  public.  Every 
man  who  did  this  had,  of  course,  his  own  peculiarities  of 
utterance,  which,  as  he  continued  to  repeat  his  produc- 


390  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

tions,  he  would  cultivate  and  render  more  and  more 
peculiar;  just  as  is  the  case  to-day  with  the  venders  who 
cry  in  our  streets,  the  clerks  who  read  in  our  courts,  and 
the  priests  who  intone  the  services  in  our  churches.  These 
peculiarities,  moreover,  would  be  shown  not  only  in  the 
elocution  of  the  reciter,  but  in  the  arrangement  of  his 
words  and  sentences,  so  as  to  fit  them  to  his  elocution. 
At  the  outset,  every  literary  man  would  have  his  own 
style  of  delivery  and  composition,  and  confine  himself  to 
it.  But  after  a  little,  just  as  men  of  the  same  districts, 
and  preachers  and  exhorters  of  the  same  religious  sects — 
Quakers,  Methodists,  or  Episcopalians — imitate  one  an- 
other; so  these  public  reciters  would  drift  into  imitation. 
Before  long,  too,  it  would  be  found  that  one  style  of  expres- 
sion, or  form  of  words,  was  better  suited  for  one  set  of 
ideas,  and  another  for  another  set;  so,  in  time,  the  same 
reciter  would  come  to  use  different  styles  or  forms  for 
different  subjects.  Only  a  slight  knowledge  of  history  is 
needed  in  order  to  prove  that  this  is  what  has  actually 
taken  place.  Pindaric  metre,  and  possibly  Homeric,  as 
also  the  Alcaic  and  Sapphic  stanzas  of  the  Greeks,  were 
used  first  by  the  poets  whose  names  they  bear;  but  to-day 
they  are  used  by  many  others  who  find  them  the  best  forms 
through  which  to  express  what  they  wish  to  write. 

But  to  return  to  our  line  of  thought.  A  further  develop- 
ment in  the  direction  already  indicated,  would  cause  these 
reciters  after  a  time  to  use  versification,  so  that  their 
rhythms  and  the  variations  in  them  might  be  more  clearly 
marked;  and  still  later,  that  the  precise  length  of  their 
verses  might  be  apparent,  as  well  as  to  assist  the  memory 
in  retaining  them,  they  would  use  rhymes.  Further 
developments  in  the  direction  of  rhythm  and  tune,  intro- 
ducing greater  variety  in  both,  and  making  the  tones  more 
and  more  sustained,  would  lead  to  the  singing  of  songs — 
that  is,  to  poetry  set  to  musical  melody. — Idem,  ii. 

VERSE,  ITS  PHYSICAL  BASIS  (see  ACCENT  and  rhythm)  . 

The  elements  of  all  verse  as  well  as  of  elocutionary  forms, 
can  be  traced  to  the  physical  requirements  of  the  organs 
of  speech,  and  to  these  not  as  they  are  used  in  singing,  but, 
distinctively,  in  talking.  One  can  sing  without  suggesting 
any  thing  that  can  be  developed  into  verse  or  rhythm;  but 
it  is  impossible  for  him  to  talk,  without  suggesting  what  can 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  391 

be  developed  into  both.  In  order  to  recognize  the  truth  of 
this  statement,  we  have  merely  to  listen  to  a  man  talking. 
As  we  do  so,  two  characteristics  of  speech  will  at  once 
attract  our  attention.  One  is  the  pause  or  cessation  of 
sound,  following  groups  of  syllables  which  form  phrases 
or  sentences,  containing  anywhere  from  two  to  a  dozen 
words;  the  other  is  the  accent,  given  to  every  second,  third, 
or  fourth  syllable.  .  .  . 

The  pause  results,  primarily,  from  the  construction  of 
the  human  lungs;  the  accent,  from  that  of  the  human 
throat.  The  speaker  checks  his  utterance  in  order  to 
breathe;  he  accents  it  because  the  current  of  sound — in 
talking,  but  not  in  singing — flows  through  the  vocal  pas- 
sages in  a  manner  similar  to  that  in  which  fluid  is  emptied 
from  the  neck  of  a  bottle — i.  e.,  with  what  may  be  termed 
alternate  active  and  passive  movements.  .  .  . 

It  is  only  necessary  to  observe  these  facts  in  order  to 
recognize  that  the  line  in  verse,  at  the  end  of  which,  when 
regularly  constructed,  the  reader  necessarily  pauses,  is  an 
artistic  development  of  the  phrase,  which  we  find  in  all 
natural  conversation.  In  fact,  Aristotle,  in  his  "Rhetoric," 
seems  to  hint  at  some  such  a  development  in  prose,  for  he 
says  the  period  must  be  divided  into  clauses,  easily  pro- 
nounced at  a  breath  el  dvixvsuaToq.  It  is  generally  ac- 
knowledged that  the  principal  mental  process  involved  in 
art-construction  is  comparison.  This  causes  all  men,  both 
consciously  and  unconsciously,  both  for  convenience  and 
pleasure,  to  take  satisfaction  in  putting  like  with  like. 
The  moment  this  tendency  is  applied  to  groups  of  sylla- 
bles separated  by  pauses,  it  leads  men  to  place,  if  possible, 
a  like  number  of  syllables  in  each  group,  and  thus  have 
between  the  pauses  like  intervals  of  time.  But  an  arrange- 
ment of  this  kind  is  the  primary  characteristic  of  verse. — 
Ideniy  II. 

VERSE,  MELODY  AND  HARMONY  OF  {see  HARMONY  IN  POETRY, 
REPRESENTATIVE  EFFECTS  OF  PITCH,  and  PITCH). 

The  poetic  effects,  corresponding  to  the  rising  and  falling 
of  the  voice,  especially  as  used  in  the  inflections,  will  now 
be  examined.  There  is  a  sense  in  which  these  movements 
of  the  voice  enter  into  the  pronunciation  of  every  syllable 
containing  more  than  one  letter-sound.  In  uttering,  for 
example,  the  word  an,  the  sound  of  the  a  is  at  a  different 


392  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

pitch  from  that  of  the  n.  In  talking  rapidly,  however, 
the  two  sounds  seem  usually  uttered,  not  in  succession  but 
simultaneously.  Their  effects,  therefore,  when  combined, 
are  analogous,  not  to  those  of  musical  melody,  but  of  har- 
mony, and  of  these  much  more  closely  than  at  first  might 
be  supposed.  In  flexible,  well-trained  voices,  belonging 
to  those  familiar  with  the  relations  of  musical  tones,  there 
is  a  tendency  to  sound  the  two  at  such  intervals  of  pitch 
from  each  other  as  to  form  a  true  musical  chord.  One 
reason  why  vocal  culture  increases  the  sweetness  and 
resonance  of  the  speaking  voice  is  because  it  enables  one  to 
sound  distinctly  all  the  elements  of  tone  needed,  in  order 
to  produce  this  speech-harmony. 

The  rising  and  falling  of  the  voice  with  which  we  have 
to  deal  now,  however,  are  not  those  subtle  ones  allying 
speech  to  harmony,  but  those  more  obvious  ones  which 
give  it  a  very  apparent  melody.  The  effects  in  poetry 
corresponding  to  elocutionary  inflections,  are  produced 
by  the  same  arrangements  of  the  syllables  in  the  line  that 
we  have  already  noticed  when  considering  metre.  In  our 
language,  as  a  rule, — a  rule  which  the  elocutionist,  of 
course,  can  violate  in  order  to  produce  what  for  him  are 
the  more  important  effects  of  delivery, — an  accented  sylla- 
ble is  sounded  on  a  key  higher  than  an  unaccented  one. 
To  illustrate  this,  in  the  ordinary  pronunciation  of  cdnjure, 
meaning  to  practise  magical  arts,  the  con  is  sounded  higher 
than  the  jure;  but  in  conjUre  meaning  to  summon  solemnly, 
the  con  is  sounded  lower.  Therefore,  if  a  line  of  poetry 
end  with  an  accented  syllable,  or  have  what  is  termed  a 
masculine  ending,  the  voice  in  pausing  on  this,  as  it  generally 
does  at  the  end  of  a  line,  will  pause,  as  a  rule,  on  a  key  higher 
than  that  on  which  it  has  uttered  the  preceding  syllable. 

For  similar  reasons,  if  a  line  close  with  an  unaccented 
syllable,  having  what  is  termed  di  feminine  ending;  or  begin 
with  an  accented  syllable,  the  effect  is  that  of  a  constant  re- 
petition of  the  falling  inflection.  In  fact,  the  Greeks,  though 
arriving  at  their  result  through  a  different  process,  actually 
termed  lines  ending  thus  catcdectic  or  falling. — Idem,  ix. 

Probably  few  have  noticed  to  what  an  extent  pitch  enters 
as  a  factor  into  the  effects  of  poetry.  They  know  in  a 
general  way,  of  course,  that  in  early  modes  of  communi- 
cating thought,  intonations,  like  gestures,  were  almost  as 
significant  as  words;  but  they  do  not  realize  that  the 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  393 

$ame  is  true  in  our  own  day,  least  of  all  that  changes  in 
pitch  are  and  always  must  be  elements  entering  into  the 
significance  of  the  effects  produced  by  poetic  rhythm. 
They  know,  again,  if  at  all  acquainted  with  the  history  of 
the  art,  that  there  was  a  time  when  poetry  was  associated 
with  both  dancing  and  music.  It  was  so,  as  we  are  told, 
in  the  time  of  King  David,  who,  on  one  occasion,  at  least, 
danced  as  well  as  sang  his  psalms  before  the  ark.  In 
Greece,  not  only  lyric  but  dramatic  poetry  was  chanted, 
and  often  accompanied  by  the  Ij^re.  As  late  as  the  sixteenth 
century,  declamation  accompanied  by  music,  flourished 
in  England  and  in  Italy.  In  the  latter  country  it  then 
passed  into  the  opera,  which  did  not  follow,  as  some  sup- 
pose, but  preceded  all  that  is  noteworthy  in  the  develop- 
ment of  the  pure  music,  unaccompanied  by  words,  of 
modem  times.  In  our  own  day,  however,  when  poetry  is 
merely  read,  the  movements  of  the  waltz,  the  polka,  the 
sonata,  the  symphony,  seem  to  belong  to  an  art  so  different, 
that  it  is  difficult  to  conceive  that  it  was  once  appropriate 
to  speak  of  ballad  poetry,  because  the  Italian  ballare 
meant  to  dance,  or  of  a  sonnet,  because  the  lute  was 
sounded  while  poetry  was  being  chanted.  The  truth  is, 
however,  that  even  to-day,  also,  poetry  and  music  are 
allied.  As  has  been  said  already,  the  chanting  of  verse 
was  not  originally  the  cause  of  its  tunes,  but  the  result  of 
them,  springing  from  an  endeavor  to  develop  artistically 
the  tunes  natural  to  speech.  These  tunes  our  poetry, 
notwithstanding  its  present  separation  from  music,  still 
retains.  They  differ  from  those  of  music,  yet  are  analogous 
to  them.  Let  us  consider  the  more  important  of  the 
resemblances  and  differences  between  the  two. — Idem,  viii. 

VIBRATION,    AS    RELATED    TO    TONE    AND    COLOR     (see    also 
HARMONY  and  HARMONY  OF  COLOR). 

That  which  separates  the  phenomena  of  rhythm  and,  as 
will  be  shown  in  another  place,  of  proportion  from  those 
of  harmony  is  the  fact  that,  of  the  divisions  of  time  or  of 
space  respectively  causing  effects  of  rhythm  and  proportion, 
the  mind  is  directly  conscious;  whereas  of  the  divisions 
causing  the  effects  of  harmony,  the  mind  is  not  conscious, 
and  has  come  to  know  of  them  only  indirectly,  as  a  result 
of  the  investigations  of  science.  These  investigations 
have  discovered  that,  back  of  the  outer    ear    which    is 


394  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

shaped  so  as  to  collect  the  sound,  and  back  of  the  drum 
too,  is  an  inner  ear  filled  with  a  pellucid  fluid  in  which 
float  the  extremities  of  the  acoustic  nerve.  Under  the 
influence  of  impulses  of  sound  from  without,  the  drum  is 
made  to  vibrate.  Its  vibrations  are  communicated  to  the 
fluid  behind  it,  and,  through  this,  they  set  into  motion  one 
or  more  of  the  delicate  organs  of  sensation — minute  pendu- 
lous rods  and  also  ossicles  that  rub  together.  It  is  only 
when  the  vibrations  are  very  frequent — some  say  sixteen 
in  a  second  of  time — that  the  ear  derives  from  them  the 
impression  of  any  sound  whatever.  As  they  increase  in 
frequency,  and,  at  the  same  time,  lessen  in  size,  the  sound 
becomes  higher  in  pitch,  its  mere  loudness  depending  not 
on  the  relative  rate  of  vibrations,  but  upon  the  violence  of 
the  stroke  producing  them.  When  at  last,  the  vibrations 
become  too  frequent  for  the  ear  to  be  aware  of  them — as 
when  there  are  forty  thousand  of  them,  as  some  say,  in  a 
second  of  time — the  effect  upon  the  ear  is  the  same  as  if  there 
were  no  vibrations  at  all,  and  the  sensation  of  sound  is 
conveyed  no  longer.  Very  similar  to  the  operations  that 
take  place  in  the  ear,  when  recognizing  pitch,  are  those  that 
take  place  in  the  eye  when  recognizing  color.  Passing 
through  the  pupil  of  the  outer  eye  and  the  transparent 
crystalline  lens  behind  it,  rays  from  objects  of  sight  reach 
the  vitreous  humor  which  extends  to  the  retina,  an  expan- 
sion of  the  optic  nerve.  The  effect  of  color  in  this  is  con- 
sidered to  be  a  result — but  exactly  how  produced  scientists 
are  not  as  yet  agreed — of  certain  vibrations  of  the  organism. 
As  in  the  case  of  sound,  too,  less  frequent  vibrations  cause  one 
hue  and  more  frequent  vibrations  cause  another. — Rhythm 
and  Harmony  in  Poetry  and  Music y  vii. 

VIBRATORY  THEORY,  APPLIED  TO  MIND  AS  WELL  AS  MATTER 

{see  also  arts,  the,  as  influenced  by  nature  and  mind)  . 
Effects  causing  rhythm  and  proportion,  which  are  con- 
sciously measured  by  the  mind,  and  those  causing  harmony 
of  sound  and  color,  which  are  not  consciously  measured, — 
these  effects  having  been  discovered  by  science  to  be  the 
same  in  principle,  it  is  argued  that  all  aesthetic  effects  are 
the  same  in  principle.  Moreover,  it  has  been  discovered 
that  not  only  do  the  nerves  of  the  eye  and  ear  vibrate  as 
affected  by  sound  and  sight,  and  communicate  to  the  brain 
intelligence  of  particular  degrees  of  pitch  and  hue  as  deter- 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  395 

mined  by  the  rates  and  sizes  of  the  vibratory  waves,  but 
it  has  been  proved  beyond  a  doubt  that  the  nerves  con- 
stituting the  substance  of  the  brain  vibrate  also,  and 
thus  give  rise  to  thoughts  and  feeHngs;  and,  not  only  so, 
but  that  the  vibrations  of  the  nerves  in  particular  parts 
of  the  brain  give  rise  to  thoughts  and  feelings  of  a  particular 
character;  such,  for  instance,  as  those  connected  with 
particular  exercises  of  memory  in  recalling  general  events 
or  specific  terms.  This  fact  has  been  ascertained  through 
various  observations  and  experiments  in  connection  with 
the  loss  or  removal  of  certain  parts  of  the  brains  of  men 
or  animals,  or  with  the  application  of  electricity  to  certain 
systems  of  nerves  accidentally  or  artificially  exposed  or  else 
naturally  accessible.  Of  course,  such  discoveries  tend  to  the 
inference  that  all  conscious  mental  experience  whatsoever, 
precisely  as  in  the  case  of  sensations  excited  in  the  organs 
of  the  eye  and  ear,  are  effects  of  vibrations  produced  in  the 
nerves  of  the  brain.  If  this  inference  be  justified,  the  line  of 
thought  that  we  have  been  pursuing  apparently  justifies 
the  additional  inference  that  all  conscious  mental  experi- 
ences of  the  beautiful  are  effects  of  harmonious  vibrations 
produced  in  the  nerves  of  the  brain.  .  .  .  There  are  many 
facts  that  warrant  us  in  holding  it.  In  holding  it,  however, 
let  us  not  neglect  noticing,  as  do  many  of  its  advocates, 
certain  other  facts.  Through  the  experiments  of  mesmerism 
and  hypnotism,  it  has  come  to  be  acknowledged  that  the 
outer  senses  can  be  completely  deadened  and  yet  the  inward 
processes  of  intelligence  kept  in  a  state  of  activity ;  and  not 
only  so,  but  that  sometimes,  merely  at  the  mental  suggestion 
of  an  operator,  irrespective  of  any  appeal  to  the  eye  or  ear, 
irrespective  therefore  of  any  possible  vibrations  in  the 
ether  or  air  to  account  for  vibratory  effects  upon  the  physical 
organs  of  the  senses,  the  one  operated  upon  is  made  to  see 
pictures  and  to  hear  music.  In  fact,  do  we  not  all  have 
experiences  of  a  realization  of  the  same  conditions  in  our 
dreams?  Now,  in  such  cases,  either  actual  physical  vibra- 
tions take  place  in  these  organs,  or  else  they  do  not  take 
place  for  the  simple  reason  that  they  are  not  necessary  to 
the  result ;  and  whichever  of  these  theories  we  adopt,  we  are 
forced  to  the  conclusion  that  the  effects  of  beauty  are 
dependent  upon  influences  operating  in  what  we  understand 
to  be  the  sphere  of  the  mind.  They  are  awakened  there 
by  the  mesmerizer  irrespective  of  any  appeal  through  the 


396  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

outer  senses,  and,  when  awakened,  they  operate  so  power- 
fully that  they  produce  either  actual  vibrations  in  the 
senses,  or  if  not,  at  least  results  identical  with  those  caused 
by  actual  vibrations.  Assuming  now  what  it  does  not 
seem  possible  to  doubt — namely,  that  the  existence  of 
these  vibrations  constitutes  the  substance  of  that  of  which 
we  are  conscious  in  aesthetic  effects;  that  these  vibrations 
are,  so  to  speak,  indispensable  to  the  operation  of  the 
battery  of  the  brain,  which  without  them  cannot  communi- 
cate their  peculiar  influence  to  intelligence, — what  are 
we  to  infer,  when  we  find  that  they  can  be  set  in  motion 
not  only  from  the  physical  side,  but — as  in  cases  of  hypnot- 
ism, telepathy,  dreams  about  music  and  painting,  etc. — 
from  the  non-physical  side? — what  but  that  on  this  latter 
side  also  the  same  vibrations  exist,  or,  if  not  so,  a  force 
capable  of  causing  the  same;  and  that  the  sphere  in  which 
we  are  mentally  conscious  of  the  vibrations,  or  the  sphere  of 
personal  consciousness,  as  we  may  call  it,  occupies  a  region 
between  the  material  and  what  we  may  term — because  we 
cannot  conceive  of  it  as  otherwise — the  immaterial?  Add 
to  this  another  fact  universally  admitted,  which  is  that 
vibrations  harmonious  in  the  sense  that  has  been  explained 
are  particularly  agreeable,  whereas  inharmonious  vibrations 
are  particularly  disagreeable;  and  why  have  we  not,  from 
modern  science,  a  suggestion  of  the  possibility  of  there  being 
exact  truth  in  the  theory  of  Pythagoras  and  the  earlier 
Greeks,  who  held  that  the  mode  of  life,  so  far  as  it  is  normal, 
true,  divine,  blissful,  is  not  only  physically  but  spiritually  a 
mode  of  harmony,  a  mode  fitted  to  produce  a  literal 
"music  of  the  spheres"?  As  has  been  said,  our  minds 
are  conscious  of  experiencing  from  a  world  which  we  can 
see  and  hear  harmonious  effects  which  are  identical  with 
effects  coming  from  a  world  of  which  we  can  only  think 
and  feel.  Now  if  by  scientific  analysis  we  can  ascertain 
the  method  through  which  they  come  from  the  one,  why 
have  we  not  a  right  to  argue  that  it  is  through  the  same 
method  that  they  come  from  the  other?  Nor  does  it 
necessarily  lessen  the  force  of  this  argument  to  point  out 
— if  indeed  this  can  be  satisfactorily  done — that  the  sensa- 
tions of  music  cannot  be  communicated  from  the  imma- 
terial side  to  those  who  have  been  born  deaf,  nor  the 
sensations  of  color  to  those  who  have  been  born  blind. 
These  facts  prove  simply  an  absence  of  the  needed  condi- 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  397 

tions,  an  absence,  that  is,  of  a  nerve-battery  sufficiently 
developed  to  be  able  to  record  vibrations  physically  re- 
cognizable only  through  the  eye  or  ear,  without  which 
battery  the  mind  as  limited  by  its  present  physical  sur- 
roundings can,  perhaps,  be  made  distinctly  conscious  of 
nothing. — Idem,  xii. 

These  questions,  however,  concerning  the  possibility 
of  exciting  to  mental  processes  in  other  ways  than  through 
the  senses,  pertain  to  psychology  rather  than  to  aesthetics. 
Whether  or  not,  as  some  think,  this  possibility  implies  the 
existence  of  a  spirit  capable  of  acting  independently  of  the 
body  though  now  temporarily  connected  with  it,  there  is 
no  doubt  that,  in  view  of  the  influence  which  the  vibrations 
of  the  nerves  undoubtedly  have  upon  mental  processes,  as 
well  as  the  mental  processes  upon  the  nerves,  the  supposi- 
tion is  rational  that  the  mental  processes  themselves, 
together  with  whatever  may  be  their  organic  sources,  are 
in  some  way  subject — ^just  as  are  heat,  magnetism,  and 
electricity,  which  certainly  approach  them  in  subtlety — 
to  the  same  laws  of  vibration,  the  harmony  of  the  effects 
of  which  produces  the  sensation  of  beauty  in  the  senses. 
So  rational,  too,  is  the  supposition,  that  no  system  of 
aesthetics  can  afford  to  ignore  it.  This  would  be  just  as 
injudicious,  to  use  no  stronger  term,  as  to  treat  it,  in  our 
present  state  of  uncertainty  with  reference  to  it,  as  the  sole 
determining  consideration.  In  this  system  nothing  will  be 
found  inconsistent  with  the  universal  applicability  of  the 
vibratory  theory,  though  its  spiritual  aspects  will  be 
recognized  as  resting  upon  no  more  infallible  foundation 
than  an  argument  from  analogy. — Idem,  xii. 

VOICE-BUILDING 

Voice-building  is  the  only  known  way  in  which  to  give 
an  uncultivated  rustic  the  tones  of  a  gentleman,  or  of 
training  growing  lungs  to  draw  blood  into  every  part  of 
them,  and,  through  doing  this,  into  every  part  of  the  brain. 
It  does  seem  strange  that  materialists,  of  all  men,  should  not 
recognize  how  much  this  blood  is  needed.  There  is  no 
subtly  philosophical,  only  a  physiological  reason,  why  many 
a  student  too  dull  to  take  interest  in  other  branches  has 
been  led  through  elocution  to  discover  interest  in  them, 
and,  ultimately,  to  develop  not  only  brightness  but  bril- 
liancy.— Essay  on  Fundamentals  in  Education. 


)08  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

VOICE-CULTURE,  ITS  MENTAL  EFFECTS. 

Even  the  department  of  English  devoted  to  vocal  culture 
has  to  do  with  more  than  merely  giving  the  strenuous  but  too 
often  uncultured  country  lad  who  comes  to  college  the 
accent  and  bearing  of  refinement,  desirable  as  would  be 
this  result  alone.  It  is  a  theory  of  one  of  the  Oriental  cults 
that  to  make  a  man  spiritual — in  the  sense  of  having  an 
imaginative  and  inventive  mind — you  must  first  teach  him 
how  to  breathe,  because  spirit  and  air — or  breath — are  one 
and  the  same.  This  explanation  is  not  scientific,  but  the 
effort  to  represent  it  as  such  will  not  appear  wholly  absurd 
when  we  recall  men  like  Beecher,  Phillips,  Guthrie,  and 
Spurgeon,  who,  according  to  their  own  accounts,  began 
their  careers  by  learning  how  to  breathe,  and  only  subse- 
quently developed  their  imaginative  and  inventive  powers, 
until  the  results  became,  as  Beecher  expresses  it,  **as  easy 
as  to  breathe."  The  truth  seems  to  be  that  when  one 
habitually  clarifies  the  blood  in  every  cell  of  his  lungs — and 
about  every  man  that  I  have  ever  known  needs  to  learn 
how  to  do  this — he  does  the  same  with  the  blood  in  every 
cell  of  his  brain.  This  makes  all  of  the  brain  active.  If 
you  could  make  it  all  sufficiently  active  you  would  have 
genius.  Every  man  would  be  a  genius,  if  only  he  could 
combine  the  fever-like  glow  which  sets  imagination  on  fire 
with  the  healthful  steadiness  of  pulse  which  keeps  the 
reason  cool. — Essay  on  Artistic  vs.  Scientific  Education:  Note. 

VOICE,    NOT  WHOLLY   EXPRESSIVE  OF  CHARACTER. 

Not  three  weeks  ago,  I  read  an  article  in  a  paper  supposed 
to  represent  a  knowledge  of  the  conditions  of  culture, 
attempting  to  show  that  the  quality  of  the  voice  does  not 
depend  upon  methods  of  breathing,  but  entirely — not  partly 
as  everybody  admits — upon  character.  I  once  had  a  pupil 
who,  when  a  babe,  had  dropt  upon  his  head  and  spine, 
with  the  practical  result  of  telescoping  his  lungs  and  keep- 
ing his  chin  very  near  his  abdomen.  Though  a  dwarf,  he  was 
anxious  to  be  a  speaker;  but  it  took  a  full  year  of  hard 
practise  for  him  to  learn  to  make,  in  a  satisfactory  way,  a 
single  elementary  vowel-sound.  Two  years  later,  he  had  a 
voice  more  sweet,  rich,  and  powerful  than  any  man  in  his 
large  class.  I  refuse  to  believe  that  the  change  was  owing 
to  a  change  in  his  character.  Nor  will  I  admit  that,  de- 
formed as  he  was,  his  organs  of  expression  were  in  need  of 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  399 

reformation  in  any  sense  not  true  of  those  of  scores  of  his 
fellows  whose  lungs,  if  not  actually  telescoped,  had  cells 
as  effectually  shut  up  as  if  this  were  the  case.  The  light  in  a 
cathedral,  after  nightfall,  when  shining  through  the  unhewn 
stone  and  wooden  beams  that  occupy  the  space  where  will 
be  the  rose  window,  as  yet  unfinished,  does  not  give  expres- 
sion to  the  Gothic  character  of  the  building;  nor  can  it  give 
this,  until  the  work  of  art  has  chiseled  the  stone,  and  filled 
the  interspaces  with  delicate  tracery  and  color.  A  similar 
relationship  often  exists  between  the  result  of  elocutionary 
art  and  the  expression  of  human  character. — Essay  on  The 
Literary  Artist  and  Elocution. 

WALL,  WHEN  NOT  REPRESENTING  SUPPORT. 

The  objection  to  the  whole  is,  that  the  wall  of  a  building 
should  represent  support.  This  square  form  does  not 
represent  the  method  of  support;  nor  does  it,  apparently, 
support  anything  itself.  Therefore  it  appears  to  be  a  sham. 
Moreover,  it  produces  mental  perplexity.  It  causes  one 
to  ask:  What,  exactly,  is  the  shape  of  the  roof?  and,  even 
though  this  can  be  guessed,  to  ask  again:  How  is  such  a 
roof  affixed  to  such  a  wall? — Paintings  Sculpture,  and 
Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,  xviii. 

WORDS,  THEIR  MEANING  AS  DETERMINED  BY  ASSOCIATION 
AND  COMPARISON  {see  also  LANGUAGE,  PLAIN  AND  FIGUR- 
ATIVE; POETRY,  ITS  language;  REPRESENTATION  IN 
POETRY,  and  REPRESENTATION  IN  SENTENCES. 

We  shall  find  it  possible  to  class  all  combinations  of 
words  under  two  heads,  corresponding  to  those  under 
which  we  have  already  grouped  single  words.  The  first 
class  includes  those  depending  for  their  meaning  upon  the 
principle  of  association,  and  the  second,  those  depending 
upon  the  principle  of  comparison.  To  get  our  bearings  here, 
let  us  recall  briefly  that  it  has  been  said,  with  reference  to 
the  first  class  of  words,  that  the  times  and  circumstances  in 
which  a  certain  exclamatory  sound  like  mama  or  papa  is 
used,  cause  men,  on  account  mainly  of  its  associations,  to 
accept  it  as  a  word,  meaning  what  it  does;  and  that  later, 
after  a  vocabulary  has  been  partly  formed,  the  same 
principle  of  association  causes  them  to  ally  something  for 
which  they  have  a  name  with  some  other  thing,  and  to  use 
the  same  name  for  both,  as  when  they  call  towns  or  imple- 
ments after  their  founders  or  inventors.     It  has  been  said 


400  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

again,  with  reference  to  the  second  class  of  words,  that  a 
certain  sound  proceeding  from  an  object  perceived  by  men  is 
imitated  by  their  vocal  organs,  and,  on  account  of  the 
comparison  between  the  two  sounds,  the  one  that  they 
have  produced  is  accepted  as  a  name  for  that  which  origi- 
nally produced  it,  as  when  cuckoo  is  adopted  as  a  term  of 
designation  for  a  certain  bird ;  and  that  later,  after  a  vocabu- 
lary has  been  partly  formed,  the  same  principle  of  comparison 
causes  them  to  perceive  that  some  conception  for  which 
they  have  a  term,  is  like  some  other  conception,  and  to 
apply  the  same  term  to  it  also,  as  when  they  use  the  word 
clear  to  refer  both  to  the  atmosphere  and  to  the  mind. 

In  accordance  with  the  analogy  of  these  two  methods 
of  determining  the  meanings  of  words,  when  used  singly, 
we  shall  find  that  we  determine  also  their  meanings  when 
used  conjointly,  i.  e.,  either  by  the  associations  which, 
when  combined  in  phrases  and  sentences,  the  words  sug- 
gest, or  by  the  comparisons  which  they  embody.  To 
illustrate  this,  suppose  that  one  says:  "Their  cultivated 
conversation  and  attire  interfered  with  the  effects  of  their 
depravity."  The  sentence,  so  far  as  concerns  its  meaning, 
is  perfectly  intelligible,  and  this  because  we  have  learned 
to  associate  with  each  of  the  words  used,  cultivated,  conver- 
sation, attire,  etc.,  a  certain  definite  conception;  and 
this  conception  comes  up  before  the  mind  the  moment 
that  we  hear  them.  But  now,  suppose  the  same  thought 
is  expressed,  as  in  this  sentence  of  Goldsmith:  "Their 
finery  threw  a  veil  over  their  grossness."  In  this  latter 
case,  neither  the  word  finery,  nor  threw,  nor  veil,  nor  gross- 
ness,  has  precisely  the  meaning  that  we  are  accustomed 
to  associate  with  it.  We  do  not  understand  the  sentence 
precisely,  until  we  consider  it  as  a  whole,  and  then  not 
until  we  consider  that  the  whole  expresses  a  comparison. 
In  other  words,  the  sentence  means  what  it  does,  not  mainly 
on  account  of  the  ordinary  associations  of  its  words,  but  on 
account  of  the  comparison  which  it  embodies.  Take  an- 
other pair  of  sentences  which  perhaps  will  illustrate  this 
difference  more  clearly.  Let  one  wish  to  express  an 
unfortunate  change  in  the  character  of  a  man  hitherto 
honest.  He  may  say  that  "His  integrity  is  impaired  by 
severe  temptation";  and  in  this  case  the  meaning  will  be 
obvious,  because  men  associate  definite  meanings  with  the 
words  integrity,  impaired,  severe,  and  temptation.     Instead 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  401 

of  using  this  language,  however,  the  man  may  select  words 
indicating  a  comparison,  and  a  series  of  comparisons.  He 
may  make  a  picture  of  his  idea,  representing  the  process  of 
the  change  in  character,  by  describing  the  process  of  an 
analogous  change  in  nature.  He  may  say:  ** His  upright- 
ness bends  before  some  pressing  blast."  Notice  how  much 
more  definitely  we  perceive  the  comparison,  the  picture,  in 
uprightness  than  in  integrity,  in  bends  than  in  impaired,  in 
pressing  than  in  severe,  in  blast  than  in  temptation.  In  this 
last  sentence,  we  perceive  at  once,  as  in  a  picture,  the 
character  that  stood  straight  up,  the  clouds  that  gathered, 
the  storm  that  burst,  and  the  ruin  that  ensued.  The 
immaterial  process  is  represented  literally  in  the  material 
one,  and  only  in  connection  with  this  latter  have  words  like 
bends,  pressing,  and  blast  any  relevancy. — Poetry  as  a 
Representative  Arty  xvi. 

WORDS,  THEIR  MEANINGS  AS  DETERMINED  BY  THE  PRINCIPLE 
OF   REPRESENTATION. 

In  forming  words  by  comparison,  as  by  association, 
terms  applicable  literally  to  material  conceptions  alone 
come  to  refer  after  a  time  to  those  that  are  immaterial. 
Take  words,  for  instance,  describing  the  operations  of  the 
mind.  We  say  that  a  man's  thoughts  are  pure,  clear, 
mixed,  muddled,  or  clouded,  and  that  he  expresses  and  im- 
presses them  upon  others;  but  only  to  material  things  like 
water,  wine,  or  the  atmosphere,  can  the  former  class  of 
terms  be  applied  literally;  and  only  into  or  out  of  a  mate- 
rial thing  can  another,  and  this  only  a  material  thing,  be 
literally  pressed.  Evidently  terms  of  this  kind  are  used  as 
a  result  of  comparing  the  mental  to  the  material  pro- 
cess, to  which  in  some  regards  it  is  analogous.  Were  it 
not  possible  to  symbolize  the  one  process  in  the  other,  it 
is  obvious  that  many  things  which  we  desire  to  communi- 
cate, would  remain  forever  unexpressed.  We  see,  there- 
fore, how  essential  to  the  very  existence  of  language 
is  this  power  which  enables  us  to  figure  or  picture  an  object 
or  operation  through  referring  to  something  which,  though 
like  it  in  some  respects,  is  wholly  different  from  it  in 
others;  as  different  from  it  as  the  paint  and  canvas  of  a 
portrait  are  from  the  flesh  and  blood  of  the  person  por- 
trayed. We  see,  too,  how  the  element  of  representation, 
which  is  essential  to  all  art,  is  a  factor  in  the  very  consti- 


m»  AN  ART-PHILOSOPHER'S  CABINET 

tution  of  language  from  which  poetic  art  is  developed. 
We  see  also  how  the  means  of  representation  are  furnished 
mainly  by  the  objects  and  operations  of  nature;  and  this 
not  only  by  those  appealing  to  the  ear,  the  sounds  of  which 
can  be  imitated,  but  also  by  those  appealing  to  the  eye,  the 
appearance  of  which  suggests  words  like  express  and  impress. 
— Idem,  XV. 

Revelations,  multiplied  by  almost  the  whole  number  of 
words  employed,  must  flash  light  through  all  the  hidden 
depths  that  underlie  the  surface  forms  of  one's  vernacular, 
before  he  can  understand  them,  and  use  them  with  absolute 
appropriateness.  Especially  is  this  so  in  the  case  of  the 
words  with  which  we  are  now  dealing, — the  words  formed 
as  a  result  of  comparison;  because  these  contain,  far  more 
decidedly  than  those  derived  from  association,  a  representa- 
tive or  picturesque — what  grammarians  term  a  figurative 
— element. — Idem,  xv. 

WORDS,  WHEN  FOREIGN  TO  A  LANGUAGE  USUALLY  UNPOETIC 
{see  ANGLO-SAXON). 

The  lack  of  representative  power  in  the  majority  of 
words  introduced  from  foreign  languages,  is  probably 
one  reason  why,  from  Homer  to  Shakespeare,  poets  have 
ranked  high  who  have  written  at  an  early  stage  in  the 
history  of  a  nation's  language,  before  it  has  become  cor- 
rupted by  the  introduction  of  foreign  words  and  phrases. 
It  may  furnish  one  reason,  too,  why  Dante,  near  the  end 
of  his  life,  thought  fit  to  deliver  lectures  to  the  people  of 
Ravenna  upon  the  use  of  their  vernacular.  It  may  explain 
why  Goethe,  at  the  beginning  of  his  career,  turned  his 
back  upon  the  fashionable  French  language,  and  gave 
himself  to  the  cultivation  of  the  neglected  tongue  of  his 
fatherland.  At  any  rate,  it  does  explain,  as  has  been  said 
before,  why  most  of  the  great  poets  of  England,  from 
Chaucer  to  Tennyson,  have  been  distinguished  among 
other  things  for  their  predominating  use  of  words  derived 
from  the  Anglo-Saxon.  These  words  still  exist  in  our 
tongue;  and  fortunately,  notwithstanding  the  natural  ten- 
dency of  all  words  to  grow  less  poetic,  they  have  lost  little 
of  their  original  significance  and  force;  because  side  by 
side  with  them  there  exist  other  words,  almost  synony- 
mous, derived  mainly  from  Latin  sources.  The  fact  that 
these  latter  by  common  consent  are  used  almost  exclusively 


QUOTED  CRITICAL  COMMENTS  403 

for  the  technical  purposes  of  science,  philosophy,  and 
trade,  thus  leaving  the  Anglo-Saxon  terms  to  the  slighter 
changes  and  deteriorations  that  take  place  in  literature, 
may  furnish  the  best  reason  that  we  have  for  hoping  that 
this  composite  language  of  ours  will  continue  to  be  for 
centuries  in  the  future,  as  it  has  been  in  the  past,  perfectly 
fitted  to  give  form  to  the  grandest  poetry. — Idem,  xvii. 

WRITING,  ITS  STYLE  DETERMINED  BY  THAT  OF  SPEAKING. 

In  the  early  ages,  the  styles  of  both  orators  and  story- 
tellers grew  out  of  the  methods  of  speech.  When  the  story- 
tellers became  artists,  they  turned  the  requirements  of 
accent  and  inhalation  into  measure  and  line,  and  thus 
developed  verse.  All  verse,  even  of  an  epic,  died  with  its 
composer,  unless  its  peculiar  fitness  for  recitation  caused 
succeeding  minstrels  to  echo  it  down  the  ages;  and  even  a 
lyric  died  unless  its  lines,  when  they  were  read,  could  sing 
themselves  into  a  song  so  full  of  sweetness  that  the  world 
could  not  forget  it. — Essay  on  The  Literary  Artist  and 
Elocution. 


THE  END. 


A  Companion-Book  to  "An  Art-Philosopher's  Cabinet" 

A  Poet's  Cabinet,  being  passages  mainly  poetica^  from  the 
works  of  George  Lansing  Raymond.  Selected  and 
arranged  according  to  subject  by  Marion  Mills  Miller, 
Litt.D.,  editor  of  **  The  Classics,  Greek  and  Latin,"  etc. 
With  illustrations  by  Howard  Chandler  Christy.     8vo. 

net,  $1.50 

"A  wide  range  of  topics,  under  appropriate  heads,  and  their  classification  is  in 
alphabetical  order,  thus  making  the  work  convenient  for  reference.  .  .  .  Editors, 
authors,  teachers,  public  speakers,  and  many  others  will  find  it  a  useful  volume, 
filled  with  quotable  passages  in  astonishing  numbers  when  it  is  remembered  that 
they  are  the  work  of  a  single  author.  '* — Hartford  (Conn.)  Times. 

"This  Poet's  Cabinet  is  the  best  thing  of  its  class — that  confined  to  the  works 
of  one  author — upon  which  our  eyes  have  fallen,  either  by  chance  or  purpose.  We 
can't  help  wishing  that  we  had  a  whole  book-shelf  of  such  volumes  in  our  own 
private  library." — Columbus  (O.)  Journal. . 

"Those  familiar  with  the  literary  activities  of  George  Lansing  Raymond  will 
welcome  this  cyclopedia  of  quotations.  .  .  That  it  should  be  possible  to  prepare  a 
book  of  this  kind  containing  448  pages  and  without  the  inclusion  of  a  commonplace 
and  still  less  of  a  banality,  is  a  tribute  that  few  writers  have  earned. " — San  Francisco 
Argonaut. 

"A  very  interesting  volume,  for  one  can  find  something  worth  while  by  turning 
at  random  to  any  of  the  pages." — Boston  (Mass.)  Globe. 

"This  book  is  one  to  place  by  the  side  of  our  Bartlett,  Ballou,  Brewer,  Edwards, 
Little,  and  other  compends  of  prose  and  verse  for  the  convenience  of  those  who  would 
|point  a  moral  or  adorn  a  tale.'  We  know  not  how  much  Mr.  Miller  had  to  omit 
in  his  course  of  selecting  this  tasteful  tribute  to  his  teacher's  merit,  but  we  do  find, 
much  to  admire  and  nothing  to  criticise  in  the  result." — Worcester  (Mass.)  Gazette, 

"The  number  and  variety  of  the  subjects  are  almost  overwhelming,  and  the 
searcher  for  advanced  or  new  thought  as  expressed  by  this  particular  philosopher  has 
no  difficulty  in  coming  almost  immediately  upon  something  that  may  strike  his  fancy 
or  aid  him  in  his  perplexities.  To  the  student  of  poetry  and  the  higher  forms  of 
literature,  it  may  be  understood  that  the  volume  will  be  of  distinct  aid. " — Utica  (N. 
Y.)  Observer. 

"To  study  the  works  of  any  one  man  so  that  we  are  completely  familiar  with  his 
ideas  upon  all  important  subjects — if  the  man  have  within  him  any  element  of 
greatness — is  a  task  which  is  likely  to  repay  the  student's  work.  .  .  .  This  fact  makes 
the  unique  quality  of  the  present  volume  .  .  .  quotations  which  deal  with  practically 
every  subject  to  be  found  in  more  general  anthologies." — Boston  (Mass.)  Advertiser, 

"  Dr.  Miller's  task  in  selecting  representative  extracts  from  Professor  Raymond's 
works  has  not  been  a  light  one,  for  there  has  been  no  chaff  among  the  wheat,  and 
there  was  an  ever-present  temptation  to  add  bulk  to  the  book  through  freedom 
in  compilation.  He  thought  best,  however,  to  eliminate  all  but  the  features  which 
revealed  the  rich  rare  soul  and  personality  of  the  poet,  and  each  quotation  is  a 
gem." — Albany  (N.  Y.)  Times-Union. 

"The  book  contains  a  careful  and  authoritative  selection  of  the  best  things  which 
this  brilliant  man  of  letters  has  given  to  tne  literary  world.  .  .  .  The  compiler  has 
done  fine  work  .  .  .  one  cannot  turn  a  page  without  coming  across  some  quotation 
which  fits  in  for  the  day  with  the  happiest  result.  Dr.  Raymond's  satire  is  keen  but 
kindly,  his  sentiment  sweet  and  tender,  and  his  philosophy  convincing  and  useful.'* 
' — Buffalo  Courier. 

"Everybody  who  knows  anything  about  literature,  knows,  of  course,  that  Dr. 
Raymond  is  a  philosopher  as  well  as  poet  ...  no  mere  rhymester,  no  simple  weaver 
of  ear-tickling  phrases  and  of  well  measured  verse  and  stanza.  There  is  pith  as  well 
as  music  in  his  song  ...  all  breathing  power  as  well  as  grace. " — Brooklyn  (N.  Y.) 
Citizen. 

"A  large  volume  of  quotations  from  the  writings  of  a  single  author  must  neces- 
sarily present  matter  of  higher  literary  quality  and  bear  the  impress  of  original 
thought  on  essential  themes  to  a  larger  degree  than  any  mere  compendium  from  the 
works  of  many  authors.  ...  His  poetry  and  prose  are  rich  in  epigrarn  and  his 
manner  of  expressing  an  inspiring  thought  in  a  line  or  a  word  lends  itself  with  pecul- 
iar advantage  to  this  form  of  work — quotations  for  reference. " — Troy  (N.  Y.)  Times. 

"That  a  poet  should  have  published  so  great  a  volume  of  verse  that  an  anthology 
or  a  book  of  brief  extracts  from  his  work  should  serve  to  fill  400  pages  is,  we  should 
say,  almost  a  unique  performance  and  condition  .  .  .  and  might  easily  be  supposed 
to  induce  the  reader  to  desire  a  more  extensive  acquaintance." — St.  Louis  (Mo.) 
Republic. 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S   SONS.  New   York  and  London.  Pnbllshera 


PROFESSOR  RAYMOND'S  POETICAL  BOOKS 

A  Life  in  Song;.    16rao,  cloth  extra,  gilt  top  .        .        .        .    $1.25 

"An  age-worn  poet,  dying  amid  strangers  in  a  humble  village  home,  leaves  the 
record  of  his  life  in  a  pile  of  manuscript  poems.  These  are  claimed  by  a  friend  and 
comrade  of  the  poet,  but,  at  the  request  of  the  cottagers,  he  reads  them  over  before 
taking  them  away  ....  This  simple  but  unique  plan,  .  .  .  forms  the  outline  of 
a  remarkably  fine  study  of  the  hopes,  aspirations,  and  disappointments  of  .  .  .  an 
American  modern  life.  .  .  .  The  volume  will  appeal  to  a  large  class  of  readers  by 
reason  of  its  clear,  musical  flexible  verse,  its  fine  thought,  and  its  intense  human 
interest." — Boston  Transcript.  -rr    ^        i_  ^ 

"Mr.  Raymond  is  a  poet,  with  all  that  the  name  implies.  He  has  the  true  fire- 
there  is  no  disputing  that.  There  is  thought  of  an  elevated  character,  the  diction  is 
pure,  the  versification  is  true,  the  meter  correct,  and  .  .  .  affords  innumerable  quota- 
tions to  fortify  and  instruct  one  for  the  struggles  of  life. " — Hartford  Post. 

"  Marked  by  a  fertility  and  strength  of  imagination  worthy  of  our  first  poets.  .^  . 
The  versification  throughout  is  graceful  and  thoroughly  artistic,  the  imagery  varied 
and  spontaneous,  .  .  .  the  multitude  of  contemporary  bardlings  may  find  in  its 
sincerity  of  purpose  and  loftiness  of  aim  a  salutary  inspiration. " — The  Literary  World 

"Here,  for  instance,  are  lines  which,  if  printed  in  letters  of  gold  on  the  front  of 
every  pulpit,  and  practised  by  every  one  benind  one,  would  transform  the  face  of  the 
theological  world.    .    .    .      In  short,  if  you  are  in  search  of  ideas  that  are  unconven- 
tional and  up-to-date,  get  a  'Life  in  Song,'  and  read  it." — Unity. 
Ballads,  and  Other  Poems.     16mo,  cloth  extra,  gilt  top        .    $1.25 

"The  author  has  achieved  a  very  unusual  success,  a  success  to  which  genuine  poetic 
power  has  not  more  contributed  than  wide  reading  and  extensive  preparation.  The 
ballads  overflow,  not  only  with  the  general,  but  the  very  particular,  ^truths  of 
history." — Cincinnati  Times. 

"  A  work  of  true  genius,  brimful  of  imagination  and  sweet  humanity." — The  Fireside 
(London). 

"Fine  and  strong,  its  thought  original  and  suggestive,  while  its  expression  is  the 
very  perfection  of  narrative  style." — The  N.  Y.  Critic. 

■'Proves  beyond  doubt  that  Mr.  Raymond  is  the  possessor  of  a  poetic  faculty  which 
is  worthy  of  the  most  careful  and  conscientious  cultivation." — N.  Y.  Evening  Post. 

"A  very  thoughtful  study  of  character.  .  .  great  knowledge  of  aims  and  motives 
...  Such  as  read  this  poem  will  derive  from  it  a  benefit  more  lasting  than  the 
mere  pleasure  of  the  moment." — The  Spectator  (London). 

The  Aztec  God,  and  Other  Dramas.  16nio,  cloth  extra,  gilt  top    $1.25 

"The  three  dramas  included  in  this  volume  represent  a  felicitous,  intense,  and 
melodious  expression  of  art  both  from  the  artistic  and  poetic  point  of  view.  .  .  . 
Mr.  Raymond's  power  is  above  all  that  of  psychologist,  and  added  thereto  are  the 
richest  products  of  the  imagination  both  in  form  and  spirit.  The  book  clearly 
discloses  the  work  of  a  man  possessed  of  an  extremely  fine  critical  poise,  of  a  culture 
pure  and  classical,  and  a  sensitive  conception  of  what  is  sweetest  and  most  ravishing 
in  tone-quality.  The  most  delicately  perceptive  ear  could  not  detect  a  flaw  in  the 
mellow  and  rich  music  of  the  blank  verse. " — Public  Opinion. 

"As  fine  lines  as  are  to  be  found  anywhere  in  English.  .  .  .  Sublime  thought 
fairly  leaps  in  sublime  expression.  ...  As  remarkable  for  its  force  of  epigram 
as  for  its  loftiness  of  conception. " — Cleveland  World.  ^ 

"...  Columbus  one  finds  a  piece  of  work  which  it  is  difficult  to  avoid  injuring 
with  fulsome  praise.  The  character  of  the  great  discoverer  is  portrayed  grandly  and 
greatly.  ...  It  is  difficult  to  conceive  how  anyone  who  cares  for  that  which  is 
best  in  literature  .  .  .  could  fail  to  be  strengthened  and  uplifted  by  this  heroic 
treatment  of  one  of  the  great  stories  of  the  world." — N.  Y.  Press. 

Dante  and  Collected  Verse.    16mo,  cloth  extra,  gilt  top       .    $1.25 

"  Epigram,  philosophy,  history — these  are  the  predominant  elements  .  .  .  which 
masterly  construction,  pure  diction,  and  lofty  sentiment  unite  in  making  a  glowing 
piece  of  blank  verse." — Chicago  Herald. 

"  The  poems  will  be  read  with  keenest  enjoyment  by  all  who  appreciate  literary 
genius,  refined  sentiment,  and  genuine  culture.  The  publication  is  a  gem  through- 
out."— New  Haven  Leader. 

"The  poet  and  the  reformer  contend  in  Professor  Raymond.  When  the  latter 
has  the  mastery,  we  respond  to  the  justice,  the  high  ideals,  the  truth  of  all  he  says — 
and  says  with  point  and  vigor — but  when  the  poet  conquers,  the  imagination  soars. 
.  ,  ,  The  mountain  poems  are  the  work  of  one  with  equally  high  ideals  of  life 
and  of  song." — Glasgow  (Scotland)  Herald. 

"Brother  Jonathan  can  not  claim  many  great  poets,  but  we  think  he  has  'struck 
oil,'  in  Professor  Raymond." — Western  (England)  Morning  News. 

"This  brilliant  composition  .  .  .  gathers  up  and  concentrates  for  the  reader 
more  of  the  reality  of  the  great  Italian  than  is  readily  gleaned  from  the  author  of  the 
Inferno  himself." — Oakland  Enquirer. 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS.  New  York  and  London.  Pnbltshers 


PROFESSOR  RAYMOND'S  WORKS 

Pictures  in  Verse.  With  20  illustrations  by  Maud  Stumm. 
Square  8vo,  in  ornamental  cloth  covers        .         $  .75 

"Little  love  poems  of  a  light  and  airy  character,  describing  pretty  rustic  scenes. 
or  domestic  interiors.  ...  As  charming  for  its  illustrations  as  for  its  reading 
matter." — Detroit  Free  Press. 

"Simple  songs  of  human  every-day  experience  .  .  .  with  a  twinkle  of  homely 
humor  and  a  wholesome  reflection  of  domestic  cheer.  We  like  his  optimistic  senti- 
ments, and  unspoiled  spirit  of  boyishness  when  he  strikes  the  chord  of  love.  It  is 
all  very  true  and  good." — The  Independent. 

The  Mountains  about  Williamstown.  With  an  introduction 
by  M.  M.  Miller,  and  35  full-page  illustrations  from 
original  photographs;  oblong  shape,  cloth,  gilt  edges. 
Net  $2.00  postpaid 

"The  beauty  of  these  photographs  from  so  many  points  of  vantage  would  of  itself 
suffice  to  show  the  fidelity  and  affection  with  which  Professor  Raymond  pursued  the 
theme  of  his  admirably  constructed  poems.  The  introduction  by  his  pupil,  friend, 
and  associate  is  an  exhaustive  study.  No  better  or  more  thorough  review  could  be 
written  of  the  book,  or  more  clearly  point  out  the  directness  and  power  of  Professor 
Raymond's  work.  .  .  .  Arnong  his  many  books  none  justifies  more  brilliantly 
the  correctness  and  charm  of  his  rhetorical  instruction,  or  his  facility  in  exemplifying 
what  he  commends." — Hartford  (Conn.)  Courant. 

"The  poems  all  show  Dr.  Raymond's  perfect  art  of  expression,  his  deep  and  relig- 
ious love  of  nature,  and  his  profound  reverence  for  the  landscape  he  celebrates. 
Every  New  Englander  will  appreciate  the  volume,  and  Williams  College  men  can 
ill  afford  not  to  possess  it." — Portland  (Me.)  Evening  Express. 

"They  show  a  keen  ear  for  rhythm,  felicity  of  phrase,  exquisite  taste,  a  polished 
style,  and  often  exalted  feeling.  Mr.  Raymond's  students  .  .  .  and  those  who 
have  read  his  book  upon  the  principles  that  underlie  art,  poetry,  and  music  will  be 
interested  in  this  clothing,  in  concrete  form,  of  his  poetic  theories.  .  .  .  Dr. 
Miller  makes  in  his  Introduction  a  long  and  lucid  discussion  of  these. " — New  York 
Times. 

"The  men  of  Williams  College  especially  owe  him  a  debt  of  gratitude  that  can 
never  be  paid." — Troy  (N.  Y.)  Record. 

"The  many  full-page  illustrations  give  lovely  vistas  of  the  Berkshires  and  of 
the  stream-silvered  valleys  they  guard.  Sometimes  philosophic,  sometimes  purely 
imaginative,  through  all  the  verse  runs  a  high  patriotism  and  a  love  of  beauty  and 
humanity  which  uplifts  and  strengthens. " — Boston  Transcript. 

"  Verse  that  often  suggests  Bryant  in  its  simplicity  and  dignity.  That  is  surely  a 
sound  model  for  nature  poetry.  Large  and  finely  produced  photographs  bring  the 
mountains  vividly  before  the  reader.  This  is  not  a  book  to  read  in  the  subway;  but 
lying  on  the  sunny  side  of  a  stony  wall  when  the  leaves  are  bursting  in  spring,  it 
will  surely  appeal. " — Brooklyn  Eagle.      ) 

Modern  Fishers  of  Men.     i2mo,  cloth,  gilt  top     .      $1.00 

"  This  delightful  novel  is  written  with  charming  insight.  The  rare  gift  ofjcharacter 
delineation  the  author  can  claim  in  full.  .  .  .  Shrewd  comments  upon  life  and 
character  add  spice  to  the  pages." — Nashville  Tennessean. 

"  Deals  with  love  and  religion  in  a  small  country  town,  and  under  the  facile  pen 
and  keen  humor  of  the  author,  the  various  situations  .  .  .  are  made  the  most  of 
.    .    .   true  to  the  life. " — Boston  Globe. 

"Such  a  spicy,  racy,  more-truth-than-fiction  work  has  not  been  placed  in  our 
hands  for  a  long  time. " — Chicago  Evening  Journal. 

"  A  captivating  story,  far  too  short  .  .  .  just  as  fresh  and  absorbing  as  when  the 
author  laid  down  his  pen  .    .    .   that  was  before  typewriters. " — Denver  Republican. 

"Essentially  humorous,  with  an  undercurrent  of  satire  ....  also  subtle  char- 
acter  delineation,  which  will  appeal  strongly  to  those  who  have  the  perceptive  facul- 
ties highlv  developed." — San  Francisco  Bulletin. 

"The  book  is  delightful  ....  in  several  ways  very  remarkable." — Boston 
Times. 

"  A  distinct  surprise  lies  in  this  little  story  ....  of  1879  ....  so  strongly 
does  it  partake  of  the  outlook  and  aim  of  the  new  church  of  to-day." — Washington 
Star 

"In  'Modern  Fishers  of  Men,'  one  sees  that  the  Men  and  Religion  Forward 
Movement  existed  before  it  began." — The  Watchman,  Boston. 

"Pleasant  reading  for  those  whom  sad  experience  has  led  to  doubt  the  possibility 
of  a  real  community  uplift  with  lasting  qualities.  The  story  is  brightened  With  a 
Quiet  but  none  the  less  hearty  humor. " — Cincinnati  Times. 

O4  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS.  New  York  and  London.  Pobllshara 


ProfessorRaymond's  System  of  COMPARATIVEiESTHETICS 

I. — Art  in  Theory.    8vo,  cloth  extra $1.75 

"  Scores  an  advance  upon  the  many  art  criticisms  extant ....  Twenty  brilliant 
chapters,  pregnant  with  suggestion. " — Popular  Science  Monthly. 

"A  well  grounded,  thoroughly  supported,  and  entirely  artistic  conception  of  art 
that  will  lead  observers  to  distrust  the  charlatanism  that  imposes  an  idle  and  super- 
ficial mannerism  upon  the  public  in  place  of  true  beauty  and  honest  workmanship. " 
— The  New  York  Times. 

"  His  style  is  good,  and  his  logic  sound  and  .  .  .  of  the  greatest  possible  service 
to  the  student  or  artistic  theories." — Art  Journal  (London). 

II.— The  Representative  Significance  of  Form.  8vo,  cloth  extra  $2.00 

"A  valuable  essay.  .  .  .  Professor  Raymond  goes  so  deep  into  causes  as  to 
explore  the  subconscious  and  the  unconscious  mind  for  a  solution  of  his  problems, 
and  eloquently  to  range  through  the  conceptions  of  religion,  science  and  metaphysics 
in  order  to  find  fixed  principles  of  taste.  ...  A  highly  interesting  discussion. " — 
The  Scotsman  (Edinburgh). 

"Evidently  the  ripe  fruit  of  years  of  patient  and  exhaustive  study  on  the  part  of  a 
man  singularly  fitted  for  his  task.  It  is  profound  in  insight,  searching  in  analysis, 
broad  in  spirit,  and  thoroughly  modern  in  method  and  sympathy. " — The  Universalist 
Leader. 

"Its  title  gives  no  intimation  to  the  general  reader  of  its  attractiveness  for  him,  or 
to  curious  readers  of  its  widely  discursive  range  of  interest ....  Its  broad  range 
may  remind  one  of  those  scythe-bearing  chariots  with  which  the  ancient  Persians 
used  to  mow  down  hostile  files. " — The  Outlook. 

III. — Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art.    8vo,  cloth  extra        .    $1,75 

"I  have  read  it  with  pleasure,  and  a  sense  of  instruction  on  many  points." — 
Francis  Turner  Palgrave,  Professor  of  Poetry,  Oxford  University. 

"Dieses  ganz  vortrefifliche  Werk. " —  Englischen  Studien,  Universitat  Breslau. 

"Ah  acute,  interesting,  and  brilliant  piece  of  work.  ...  As  a  whole  the  essay 
deserves  unqualified  praise." — N.  Y.  Independent. 

IV,— Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts. 
With  225  illustrations.    Svo $2.50 

"The  artist  will  find  in  it  a  wealth  of  profound  and  varied  learning;  of  original, 
suggestive,  helpful  thought  .    .    .  of  absolutely  inestimable  value. " — The  Looker-on. 

"Expression  by  means  of  extension  or  size,  .  .  .  shape,  .  .  .  regularity  in 
outlines ....  the  human  body  .  .  .  posture,  gesture,  and  movement,  .  .  .  are 
all  considered.  ...  A  specially  interesting  chapter  is  the  one  on  color." — 
Current  Literature. 

"The  whole  book  is  the  work  of  a  man  of  exceptional  thoughtfulness,  who  says 
what  he  has  to  say  in  a  remarkably  lucid  and  direct  manner. " — Philadelphia  Press. 

v.— The  Genesis  of  Art  Form.    Fully  illustrated.    Syo  .        .    $2.25 

"In  a  si)irit  at  once  scientific  and  that  of  the  true  artist,  he  pierces  through  the 
manifestations  of  art  to  their  sources,  and  shows  the  relations  intimate  and  essential, 
between  painting,  sculpture,  poetry,  music,  and  architecture.  A  book  that  possesses 
not  only  singular  value,  but  singular  charm." — N.  Y.  Times. 

"A  help  and  a  delight.  Every  aspirant  for  culture  in  any  of  the  liberal  arts,  includ- 
ing music  and  poetry,  will  find  something  in  this  book  to  aid  him. " — Boston  Times. 

"It  is  impossible  to  withhold  one's  admiration  from  a  treatise  which  exhibits  in 
such  a  large  degree  the  qualities  of  philosophic  criticism." — Philadelphia  Press. 

VI,— Rhythm  and  Harmony  in  Poetry  and  Music,  Together  with 
Music  as  a  Representative  Art.    Svo,  cloth  extra     .    $1.75 

"Professor  Raymond  has  chosen  a  delightful  subject,  and  he  treats  it  with  all  the 
charm  of. narrative  and  high  thought  and  profound  study." — New  Orleans  States. 

"The  reader  must  be,  indeed,  a  person  either  of  supernatural  stupidity  or  of 
marvelous  erudition,  who  does  not  discover  much  information  in  Prof.  Raymond's 
exhaustive  and  instructive  treatise.  From  page  to  page  it  is  full  of  suggestion.  "-=• 
The  Academy  (London). 

VII.— Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color  in  Painting, 
Sculpture,  and  Architecture.    Fully  illustrated.    Svo.    $2.50 

"  Marked  by  profound  thought  along  lines  unfamiliar  to  most  readers  and  thinkers. 
.  .  .  When  grasped,  however,  it  becomes  a  source  of  great  enjoyment  and  exhil- 
aration. .  .  .  No  critical  person  can  afford  to  ignore  so  valuable  a  contribution  to 
the  art-thought  of  the  day." — The  Art  Interchange  (N.  Y.). 

"One  does  not  need  to  be  a  scholar  to  follow  this  scholar  as  he  teaches  whila 
seeming  to  entertain,  for  he  does  both. " — Burlington  Hawkeye. 

"  The  artist  who  wishes  to  penetrate  the  mysteries  of  color,  the  sculptor  who  desires 
to  cultivate  his  sense  of  proportion,  or  the  architect  whose  ambition  is  to  reach  to  a 
high  standard  will  find  the  work  helpful  and  inspiring." — Boston  Transcript. 

G,  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS,  New  York  and  London.  Publishers 


TEXT-BOOKS  BY  PROFESSOR  RAYMOND 

The  Essentials  of  -Esthetics.    8vo.    Illustrated.   Net,  $2.50 

This  work,  which  is  mainly  a  compendium  of  the  author's  system  of  Comparative 
^Esthetics,  previously  published  in  seven  volumes,  was  prepared  by  request,  for  a 
text-book  and  for  readers  whose  time  is  too  limited  to  study  the  minutiae  of  the 
subject. 

"It  can  hardly  fail  to  make  talent  more  rational,  genius  more  conscious  of  the 
principles  of  art,  and  the  critic  and  connoisseur  better  equipped  for  impression, 
judgment,  or  appraisement. " — N.  Y.  Times. 

"In  spite  of  all  that  has  been  written  on  the  subject  from  widely  contrasted 
standpoints,  this  manual  has  distinct  claims  on  students. " — The  Standard  (London). 

"His  evidence  is  clear  and  straightforward,  and  his  conclusions  eminently  scholarly 
and  sound. " — Vanity  Fair  (London.) 

"In  his  scientific  excursion,  he  makes  hard  things  easy  to  the  lay  mind.  The 
serious  student  of  art  cannot  fail  to  find  the  book  interesting,  and  in  certain  import- 
ant matters  convincing." — Manchester  (England)  Guardian. 

"This  book  is  a  valuable  contribution  to  an  important  subject  which  mav  help 
us  to  understand  more  fully  not  only  that  a  picture,  or  a  poem,  or  a  musical  com- 
position is  good,  but  also  why  it  is  good,  and  what  constitutes  its  excellence. " — The 
Christian  Register  (Boston). 

"So  lucid  in  expression  and  rich  in  illustration  that  every  page  contains  matter  of 
deep  interest  even  to  the  general  reader. " — Boston  Herald. 

"Dr.  Raymond's  book  will  be  invaluable.  He  shows  a  knowledge  both  extensive 
and  exact  of  the  various  fine  arts,  and  accompanies  his  ingenious  and  suggestive 
theories  by  copious  illustrations." — The  Scotsman  (Edinburgh). 

"The  whole  philosophy  underlying  this  intelligent  art-criticism  should  be  given 
the  widest  possible  publicity. " — Boston  Globe. 

The  Orator's  Manual.    i2mo  .        .       $1.20 

A  Practical  and  Philosophic  Treatise  on  Vocal  Culture,  Emphasis,  and  Gesture, 
together  with  Hints  for  the  Composition  of  Orations  and  Selections  for  Declamation 
and  Reading,  designed  as  a  Text-book  for  Schools  and  Colleges,  and  for  Public 
Speakers  and  Readers  who  are  obliged  to  Study  without  an  Instructor,  fully  revised 
with  important  Additions  after  the  Fifteen  Edition. 

"It  is  undoubtedly  the  most  complete  and  thorough  treatise  on  oratory  for  the 
practical  student  ever  published." — The  Educational  Weekly,  Chicago. 

"I  consider  it  the  best  American  book  upon  technical  elocution.  It  has  also 
leanings  toward  a  philosophy  of  expression  that  no  other  book  written  by  an  Ameri- 
can has  presented." — Moses  True  Brown,  Head  of  the  Boston  School  of  Oratory. 

"The  work  is  evidently  that  of  a  skilful  teacher  bringing  before  students  of  oratory 
the  results  of  philosophical  thinking  and  successful  experience  in  an  admirable  form 
and  a  narrow  compass." — /,  W.  Churchill,  Professor  of  Homiletics,  Andover  Theo- 
logical Seminary. 

"I  have  long  wished  for  just  such  a  book.  It  is  thoroughly  practical,  and  descends 
into  details,  really  helping  the  speaker." — J.  M.  Hoppin,  D.D.,  Professor  of  Hom- 
iletics, Yale. 

"The  completeness,  exactness,  and  simplicity  of  this  manual  excite  my  admira- 
tion. It  is  so  just  and  full  of  nature."— A.  T.  McGill.  D.D..  LL.D.,  Professor  of 
Homiletics,  Princeton. 

The  Writer  (with  Post  Wheeler,  Litt.D.)     i2mo.    $IhOO 

A  Concise,  Complete,  and  Practical  Text-book  of  Rhetoric,  designed  to  aid  in  the 
Appreciation,  as  well  as  Production  of  All  Forms  of  Literature,  Explaining,  for  the 
first  time,  the  Principles  of  Written  Discourses  by  correlating  them  to  those  of  Oral 
Discourse.     Former  editions  fully  revised. 

"A  book  of  unusual  merit.  A  careful  examination  creates  the  impression  that  the 
exercises  have  been  prepared  by  practical  teachers,  and  the  end  in  view  is  evidently 
to  teach  rather  than  to  give  information.  "—rA«  Pacific  Educational  Journal. 

"The  pupil  will  forget  he  is  studying  rhetoric,  and  will  come  to  express  himself  for 
the  pure  pleasure  he  has  in  this  most  beautiful  art." — Indiana  School  Journal. 

"  It  reaches  its  purpose.  While  especially  valuable  as  a  text-book  in  schools,  it  is 
a  volume  that  should  be  in  the  hands  of  every  literary  worker." — StcUe  Gazette, 
Trenton,  N.  J.  ...... 

"  The  treatment  is  broader  and  more  philosophical  than  in  the  ordinary  text-book. 
Every  species  of  construction  and  figure  is  considered.  The  student  has  his  critical 
and  literary  sense  further  developed  by  .  .  .  the  best  writings  in  the  language  used 
to  illustrate  certain  qualities  of  style. " — The  School  Journal. 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S    SONS.  New   York  and  London.  Pabllshera 


other  Books  by  Professor  Raymond 


The  Psychology  of  Inspiration.     8vo,  cloth.     Net,  $1.40; 
by  mail,  $1.53. 

The  book  founds  its  conclusions  on  a  study  of  the  action  of  the  human  mind  when 
obtaining  and  expressing  truth,  as  this  action  has  been  revealed  through  the  most 
recent  investigations  of  physiological,  psychological,  and  psychic  research;  and  the 
freshness  r.nd  originality  of  the  presentation  is  acknowledged  and  commended  by 
such  authorities  as  Dr.  J.  Mark  Baldwin,  Professor  of  Psychology  in  Johns  Hopkins 
University,  who  says  that  its  psychological  position  is  "new  and  valuable";  Dr. 
W.  T.  Harris,  late  United  States  Commissioner  of  Education  and  the  foremost 
metaphysician  in  the  country,  who  says  it  is  sure  "to  prove  helpful  to  many  who 
fincl  themselves  on  the  border  line  between  the  Christian  and  the  non-Christian 
beliefs";  and  Dr.  Edward  Everett  Hale,  who  says  that  "no  one  has  approached  the 
subject  from  this  point  of  view."  He  characterizes  it,  too,  as  an  "endeavor  to 
formulate  conceptions  that  almost  every  Christian  to-day  believes,  but  without  know- 
ing why  he  does  so. "  As  thus  intimated  by  Dr.  Hale,  the  book  is  not  a  mere  con- 
tribution to  apologetics — not  a  mere  defense  of  Christianity.  It  contains  a  formula- 
tion of  principles  that  underlie  all  rational  interpretation  of  all  forms  of  revealed 
religion.  These  principles  are  applied  in  the  book  to  Christian  doctrine,  faith,  and 
conduct;  to  the  services,  discipline,  and  unity  of  the  church;  and  to  the  methods  of 
insuring  success  in  missionary  enterprise.  It  strives  to  reveal  both  the  truth  and  the 
error  that  are  in  such  systems  of  thought  as  are  developed  in  AGNOSTICISM, 
PRAGMATISM,  MODERNISM,  THEOSOPHY.  SPIRITUALISM,  AND  CHRIS- 
TIAN SCIENCE. 

The  first  and,  perhaps,  the  most  important  achievement  of  the  book  is  to  show 
that  the  fact  of  inspiration  can  be  demonstrated  scientifically:  in  other  words,  that 
the  inner  subconscious  mind  can  be  influenced  irrespective  of  influences  exerted 
through  the  eyes  and  the  ears,  i.  e.,  by  what  one  sees  or  hears.  In  connection  with 
this  fact  it  is  also  shown  that,  when  the  mind  is  thus  inwardly  or  inspirationally 
influenced,  as,  for  example,  in  hypnotism,  the  influence  is  suggestive  and  not  dicta- 
torial. As  a  result,  the  inspired  person  presents  the  truth  given  him  not  according 
to  the  letter,  but  according  to  the  spirit.  His  object  is  not  to  deal  with  facts  and  impart 
knowledge,  as  science  does.  This  would  lead  men  to  walk  by  sight.  His  object  is 
to  deal  with  principles,  and  these  may  frequently  be  illustrated  just  as  accurately  by 
apparent,  or,  as  in  the  case  of  the  parable,  by  imagined  circumstances,  as  by  actual 
ones.  For  this  reason,  many  of  the  scientific  and  historical  so-called  "objections" 
to  the  Bible  need  not  be  answered  categorically.  Not  only  so,  but  such  faith  as  it  is 
natural  and  right  that  a  rational  being  should  exercise  can  be  stimulated  and  devel- 
oped in  only  the  degree  in  which  the  text  of  a  sacred  book  is  characterized  by  the 
very  vagueness  and  variety  of  meaning  and  statement  which  the  higher  criticism 
of  the  Bible  has  brought  to  light.  The  book  traces  these  to  the  operation  and  re- 
quirements of  the  human  mind  through  which  inspiration  is  received  and  to  which 
it  is  imparted.  Whatever  inspires  must  appear  to  be,  in  some  way,  beyond  the  grasp 
of  him  who  communicates  it,  and  can  make  him  who  hears  it  think  and  train  him  to 
think,  in  the  degree  only  in  which  it  is  not  comprehensive  or  complete;  but  merely, 
like  everything  else  in  nature,  illustrative  of  that  portion  of  truth  which  the  mind 
needs  to  be  made  to  find  out  for  itself. 

"A  book  that  everybody  should  read  .  .  .  medicinal  for  prof  est  Christians,  and 
full  of  guidance  and  encouragement  for  those  finding  themselves  somewhere  between 
the  desert  and  the  town.  The  sane,  fair,  kindly  attitude  taken  gives  of  itself  a 
profitable  lesson.  The  author  proves  conclusively  that  his  mind — and  if  his,  why 
not  another's? — can  be  at  one  and  the  same  time  sound,  sanitary,  scientific,  and 
essentially  religious." — The  Examiner,  Chicago. 

"The  author  writes  with  logic  and  a  'sweet  reasonableness'  that  will  doubtless 
convince  many  halting  minds.     It  is  an  inspiring  book." — Philadelphia  Inquirer. 

"It  is,  we  think,  difficult  to  overestimate  the  value  of  this  volume  at  the  present 
critical  pass  in  the  history  of  Christianity." — The  Arena,  Boston. 

"  The  author  has  taken  up  a  task  calling  for  heroic  effort,  and  has  given  us  a  volume 
worthy  of  careful  study.  .  .  .  The  conclusion  is  certainly  very  reasonable." — 
Christian  Intelligencer,  New  York. 

"Interesting,  suggestive,  helpful," — Boston  Congregationalist. 

"Thoughtful,  reverent,  suggestive." — Lutheran  Observer,  Philadelphia. 

"Professor  Raymond  is  a  clear  thinker,  an  able  writer,  and  an  earnest  Christian, 
and  his  book  is  calculated  to  be  greatly  helpful  to  those  in  particular  who,  brought  up 
in  the  Christian  faith,  find  it  impossible  longer  to  reconcile  the  teachings  of  the 
Church  with  the  results  of  modern  scientific  thought." — Newark  (  N.  J.)  Evening 
News. 

FUNK  &  WAGNALLS  COMPANY,  Pubs.,  New  York  and  Londoa 


OTHER  BOOKS  BY  PROFESSOR  RAYMOND 

Fundamentals  in  Education,  Art,  and  Civics:  Essays  and 
Addresses.     8vo,  cloth.     Net,  $1.40;  by  mail,  $1.53 

"Of  fascinating  interest  to  cultured  readers,  to  the  student,  the  teacher,  the  poet, 
the  artist,  the  musician,  in  a  word  to  all  lovers  of  sweetness  and  light.  The  author  has 
a  lucid  and  vigorous  style,  and  is  often  strikingly  original.  What  impresses  one  is 
the  personality  of  a  profound  thinker  and  a  consummate  teacher  behind  every 
paragraph." — Dundee  Courier,  Scotland. 

"The  articles  cover  a  wide  field  and  manifest  a  uniformly  high  culture  in  every 
field  covered.  It  is  striking  how  this  great  educator  seems  to  have  anticipated  the 
educational  tendencies  of  our  times  some  decades  before  they  imprest  the  rest  of  us. 
He  has  been  a  pathfinder  for  many  younger  men,  and  still  points  the  way  to  higher 
heights.     The  book  is  thoroughly  up-to-date." — Service,  Philadelphia. 

Clear,  informing,  and  delightfully  readable.  Whether  the  subject  is  art  and 
morals,  technique  in  expression,  or  character  in  a  republic,  each  page  will  be  found 
interesting  and  the  treatment  scholarly,  but  simple,  sane,  and  satisfactory  .  .  .  the 
story  of  the  Chicago  fire  is  impressingly  vivid." — Chicago  Standard. 

"He  is  a  philosopher,  whose  encouraging  idealism  is  well  grounded  in  scientific 
Btudy,  and  who  illuminates  points  of  psychology  and  ethics  as  well  as  of  art  when 
they  come  up  in  the  course  of  the  discussion. " — The  Scotsman,  Edinburgh,  Scotland. 

"A  scholar  of  wide  learning,  a  teacher  of  experience,  and  a  writer  of  entertaining 
and  convincing  style." — Chicago  Examiner. 

"'The  Mayflower  Pilgrims'  and  'Individual  Character  in  Our  Republic'  call  for 
unstinted  praise.  They  are  interpenetrated  by  a  splendid  patriotism. " — Rochester 
Post-Express. 

"Agreeably  popularizes  much  that  is  fundamental  in  theories  of  life  and  thought. 
The  American  people  owe  much  of  their  progress,  their  optimism,  and  we  may  say 
their  happiness  to  the  absorption  of  just  such  ideals  as  Professor  Raymond  stands 
for." — Minneapolis  Book  Review  Digest. 

"They  deal  with  subjects  of  perennial  interest,  and  with  principles  of  abiding 
importance,  and  they  are  presented  with  the  force  and  lucidity  which  his  readers 
have  come  to  look  for  in  Dr.  Raymond." — Living  Age,  Boston. 

Suggestions  for  the  Spiritual  Life — College  Chapel  Talks. 

8vo.,  cloth.     Net  $1.40;  by  mail,  $1.53 

"Sermons  of  more  than  usual  worth,  full  of  thought  of  the  right  kind,  fresh, 
strong,  direct,  manly.  .  .  .  Not  one  seems  to  strain  to  get  a  young  man's  atten- 
tion by  mere  popular  allusions  to  a  student  environment.  They  are  spiritual, 
scriptural,  of  straight  ethical  import,  meeting  diflSculties,  confirming  cravings, 
amplifying  tangled  processes  of  reasoning,  and  not  forgetting  the  emotions. " — Hart- 
ford Theological  Seminary  Record  (Congregationalist). 

"The  clergyman  who  desires  to  reach  young  men  especially,  and  the  teacher  of 
men's  Bible  Classes  may  use  this  collection  of  addresses  to  great  advantage.  .  .  . 
"The  subjects  are  those  of  every  man's  experience  in  character  building  .  .  .  such  a 
widespread  handling  of  God's  word  would  have  splendid  results  in  the  production 
of  men." — The  Living  Church  (Episcopalian). 

"Great  themes,  adequately  considered.  .  .  .  Surely  the  young  men  who 
listened  to  these  sermons  must  have  been  stirred  and  helped  by  them  as  we  have 
been  stirred  and  helped  as  we  read  them. " — Northfield  (Mass.)  Record  of  Christian 
Work  (Evangelical). 

"They  cover  a  wide  range.  They  are  thoughtful,  original,  literary,  concise, 
condensed,  pithy.  They  deal  with  subjects  in  which  the  young  mind  will  be  inter- 
ested." — Western  Christian  Advocate  (Methodist). 

.  "Vigorous  thought,  vigorously  expressed.  One  is  impressed  by  the  moderation 
and  sanity  of  the  teachings  here  set  forth  and  scholarly  self-restraint  in  statement. 
Back  of  them  is  not  only  a  believing  mind,  but  genuine  learning  and  much  hard 
thinking." — Lutheran  Observer. 

"  Though  most  of  the  addresses  were  prepared  over  forty  years  ago  .  .  .  no 
chapter  in  the  book  seems  to  be  either  'old-fogyish'  or  'unorthodox.'  " — The  Watch- 
man (Boston,  Baptist).  .       . 

"The  preacher  will  find  excellent  models  for  his  work  and  stimulating  thought  .  .  . 
attractively  presented  and  illustrated.  .  .  .  The  addresses  are  scholariy  and 
especially  adapted  to  cultivated  minds.  They  show  evidence  of  intimate  acquaint- 
ance with  modern  science  and  sympathy  with  modern  ideas." — Springfield  (Mass.) 
Republican.  .    . 

"Beautiful  and  inspiring  discourses  .  .  .  embody  the  ripe  conviction  of  a  mind 
of  exceptional  refinement,  scholarship,  and  power  ...  a  psychologist,  a  phil- 
osopher, and  a  poet. " — N.Y.  Literary  Digest.  „     nt-f  ..  . 

"  Never  was  such  a  book  more  needed  by  young  men  than  jnst  now... — Pkuadel- 
phia  Public  Ledger. 

FUNK  &  WAGNALLS  COMPANY,  Pubs.  New  York  and  Londoa. 


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